


The Good Friend

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-12
Updated: 1999-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 77,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blair's heart is broken, things go from bad to worse and it's a long road to recovery for the Guide and his sentinel.<br/>Archivist Note: Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, folks, this is my last Sentinel story. It's been a lot of fun, playing in this sandbox and I'd like to thank you all for reading and for sharing your enthusiasm for my work. It's been an invaluable experience for me and I wouldn't have missed it for anything.
> 
> Special thanks go to Rie for doing a mega-fast beta on this and for all that wonderful support. Thanks also to Top Gun (you know who you are) for being dragged into this without any kicking and screaming and to Mairaid for pages and pages of enlightenment. Finally, a big thank you to Kadru - you're the best. This has indeed been made an exceptional experience due entirely to the people I've met. 

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## The Good Friend

by Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's disclaimer: They belong to each other and there's nothing Petfly, Paramount and whatever sundry others can do about it. Now I'm putting them back, worn out, tired - but definitely not frustrated. It was the least I could do.

* * *

The Good Friend - Part one  
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

"And thus, conscience doth make cowards of us all..."  
Hamlet  
Shakespeare 

* * *

Jim had to dial down both hearing and sight as he stepped into the nightclub. Flashing lights focussed their energies towards the opposite end of the room, giving him some reprieve - but the music was so loud it should have been classified as a lethal weapon. The place was half-empty. It was way too early for things to have picked up just yet - and for that, at least, he was glad. It wouldn't be so hard to find Sandburg. 

His hearing adjusted and slightly more comfortable, he moved through the club towards the bar, casting his gaze over murky, smoke-red shadows smelling of things he didn't want to know about. He was stared at, measured and judged - but left alone. Small mercies. 

He reached the bar, a long black-vinyl covered thing all glistening with chrome studs and ice green glass. A barman approached, half-interest and half-disbelief conjoined on his otherwise bored face. 

"What can I get you?" 

"I'm looking for a friend." 

"Aren't we all?" 

Jim sighed internally but kept his focus on what he needed. "He's about five-eight, long curly hair ..." 

"Big blue eyes and is waiting for his partner, Jim, right?" The barman took a step back and let a smile cover the rest of his expression. "Sure, he's down there, around the corner. Strayed, did he?" 

"Something like that." Jim nodded his thanks and navigated his way around groups of milling patrons to where the bar hooked a right angle. There, perched on a stool as though it was his only anchor in life, was one Blair Sandburg, somewhat the worse for wear. 

For a moment, Jim didn't approach but instead, simply watched. Blair wore a pair of black jeans he hadn't seen before and a red shirt, buttons open at the neck, sleeves rolled and folded to his elbows. There was something about him which looked entirely at home in this place - and something which never would. Farm-boy meets the big, ugly city and neither got off lightly. 

Blair had his left leg straight and planted on the foot rail running along the base of the bar. Even in the dim light, Jim could see the thickened girth around the knee from bandages hidden by the jeans. The man himself was hunched over the bar, three empty glasses in front of him, another half full. He had his glasses on, his hair tied back, but long errant strands hung loose, obscuring his face from Jim's eyes. 

He appeared to be writing something. Fast and furious, pen darting across a notepad, urgent and necessary. 

Jim smiled. He took a few steps forward until he stopped beside the distracted figure of his friend. "Hey, Chief?" 

Instantly Blair looked up, eyes surprised - then widening to a great, goofy grin. "Hey, Jim, man! What are you doin' here? Not your kind of place at all, man. Wanna drink?" 

Oh dear. 

Gently, Jim shook his head, pulled up a stool and perched on the edge. "What are you writing?" 

"Oh," Blair waved his hand, shaking his head, dismissing his efforts as though they were already forgotten. "Nothin' much. Just, you know... stuff. Things I wanted to say, you know?" 

There was something a bit wrong about everything Jim was seeing but he knew his partner better than to push hard. Softly, softly was the best approach right now. "Maybe I will have a drink." 

Blair grinned at him again, alcohol making his eyes glisten. Absently, his hand tapped the pen against the bar in time with the throbbing music. At any other time, his whole body would have been into it - another sure sign that something was wrong. 

The barman brought them both short glasses of what turned out to be whisky. Blair grabbed his, downed half of it in one swallow then turned back to Jim. "Oh, hey, I got you this." He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a small tube of something. "It's seaweed toothpaste. It's really mild but it's supposed to be great. I know you're getting a little sensitive to that cinnamon one I got - but I thought this might be worth a try. It's just a sample. I can get more if you like it." 

Jim took the tube and, only because Blair was watching him closely, opened it and took a careful sniff. It seemed okay. "Seaweed, huh?" 

"Yeah. All natural products. Nothing artificial." 

"Thanks." Jim put the cap back on and put the tube into his pocket. Blair was grinning at him again, so far away from his usual focussed self. 

"So man, watcha doing here?" 

Jim sipped his drink then placed the glass on the bar with great care. "You called me, remember? Said the pain meds for your knee were acting up? You wanted a lift home?" Pain meds acting up - and reacting to the alcohol Blair had consumed. It wouldn't be long before the mixture knocked him out completely. 

"Oh, yeah," Blair drew the word out as though he was just remembering \- though it was obvious that he didn't. He stared at Jim a second longer and abruptly, all the bounce left him - or rather, the little bounce that remained disappeared. "Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I... er..." Blair swallowed and turned away, gaze dropping back to the pad and his writing. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." 

"Come on, Chief, you can tell me. What's up?" 

He shrugged a little, hands now twisting the pen between them. Another little shrug followed and then words came out, words influenced by both pain meds and a substantial amount of alcohol. "It's ... nothing much... just ... Nick." 

Carefully, Jim leaned a little closer, bringing with the movement an air of intimacy. "What about Nick?" 

"He ... er... dumped me." 

"Dumped you? Why?" The response was out before Jim could stop it, articulating a disbelief and confusion he had no time to analyse. "What happened?" 

Those shoulders shrugged again and Blair took another mouthful of whisky, licking his lips afterwards as though he would find the words he needed. But he said nothing. 

Jim pulled his stool a little closer. "Chief? Come on," he said gently, hoping the other man could hear him over the noise. "I thought everything was fine with you two. Did something happen?" 

"I guess. Maybe. I dunno. He didn't say." The voice was small and very unhappy. 

"Well, what _did_ he say? Exactly?" 

"Blair, I don't want to see you again." 

"That's it?" 

"Pretty much." Blair shot a glance at Jim then snaked a hand out to his glass, wrapping long fingers around it. When Jim didn't move to stop him, he took the glass and drained its contents, wincing a little afterwards. 

"Okay, what's the rest of it?" 

Blair's gaze rose a little guiltily before wandering across the rest of the room. "Decided he didn't like me working with the PD after all. Didn't like me sharing an apartment with a cop. Didn't like me spending so much time at the university. Didn't like my flannel shirts. Really hated my backpack. And my car? Man, let's not even go there, okay?" 

Jim sat back a little, clasping his hands together and resting an elbow on the bar. When Blair had come to him some months ago and confessed he was seeing a guy, Jim had been surprised, to say the least. Until then, he'd had no idea Blair was interested in men - but Blair had made his confession, lacing it with large quantities of apologies for keeping it from him, for not coming out sooner. Oddly enough, Jim had absorbed the information quite quickly and had even agreed to have dinner with Blair and Nick a couple of times. Nick had seemed like a nice guy - but Jim had stayed well out of the thing, preferring to retain some distance between Blair and his train-wreck love life. It had always been one of the necessary paths he took to retaining his sanity. 

But the truth was, nice guy or not, he'd never liked Nick at all. 

"I'm sorry, man, I guess you don't want to know all this, do you?" 

Blair was waving at the barman for another drink and Jim didn't stop him. When two more glasses appeared, he took a breath and composed his next question carefully. 

"Chief, Nick never seemed to mind any of that. In fact, I got the distinct impression he liked the idea of you working with the PD. Didn't he ask to come along on a stakeout once?" 

"Yeah." Muffled, begrudging. 

"So what made him change his mind? Something else must have happened." 

"I don't know what. I mean, I was like, at his place last night and everything was fine. And then this morning, when we woke up, well, he didn't say anything and nothing had changed and man, last night we were just so... hot you know, like we couldn't keep our hands off each other and well, this morning it was the same and then he came to the clinic after I hurt my knee, helped me back to my office and then just tells me he doesn't want to see me any more. I thought he was joking, because of my knee." Blair finished this with a faintly wistful sigh - then stopped abruptly and turned wide, horrified eyes on Jim. "Shit, man, I'm sorry, too much information, right? Oh, fuck! What the fuck am I doing wrong!" 

With half a sob, he planted his arms on the bar and buried his face in them, shaking his head and muttering words Jim couldn't make out. 

Too much information? The idea of Blair and Nick ... last night and this morning ... well, it didn't bear thinking about. At least, not in a place like this. Of course, it didn't matter to him if his roomie was bi - didn't matter at all - and he'd not done any gross things like demand that Blair never bring any guys home with him. In fact, he'd done his best to make sure Blair knew he was okay with it all. It wasn't like it was really his business, was it? 

Only now it was, because said roomie was doing a heartbreak hotel all over this nightclub bar and it was up to Jim to fix it - or at least, make it a little better. 

He reached out and put a hand on Blair's shoulder, leaning close so Blair could hear him. "Chief, if he doesn't want you, that's his problem. There's nothing wrong with you. If he didn't know what he had with you, then he wasn't the right man for you. Don't hate yourself. Your Blessed Protector won't stand for it, okay?" 

That got him a slight hiccup of drunken laughter. Slowly, Blair lifted his head and peered at Jim over misty glasses and through a veil of tangled curls. "I guess... that's what a Blessed Protector is for, right?" 

"Right," Jim replied, smiling softly. He squeezed Blair's shoulder, backing up his words. "You did nothing wrong, Chief - and you know I wouldn't lie to you, don't you?" 

"Sure," Blair nodded hazily. "You're pretty good at pointing out when I do do something wrong, so I guess I should trust you this time." 

"Exactly." 

"It's just that..." 

"What?" 

"Well, he ... well, I thought that he was ..." 

"What?" Jim murmured, feeling the nightclub and music and other people fade away into the background in the face of Blair's alcohol-razed anguish. "Do you love him?" 

Blair searched his face for a moment before lifting a shoulder, "I guess. I thought he loved me. I suppose I was wrong. I mean, I wouldn't just dump somebody I loved." 

"No, you wouldn't." 

"Jim?" Blair smiled foggily at him, hand coming out to touch his resting on the bar. "You really are okay with this, aren't you?" 

Jim blinked and nodded, "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Dunno. But I knew you'd come through for me. Doesn't make much sense to me 'cause... Sorry, I can't think much right now." 

"How 'bout we get you home? How's the knee?" 

"Hurting. Stupid thing to do. I should have been looking where I was going." 

"How did you do it?" 

"Fell down the stairs near my office. Got a nice bruise on my ass as well. Still, I guess I won't have to worry about _that_ for a while, eh?" 

Jim closed his eyes at that last comment, shutting out the instant image it created. Blair slid off his stool, standing unsteadily. Jim came to his feet, picking up the backpack left on the floor, held it open while Blair stuffed the notepad into it. Then, with his arm around Blair's waist, he helped the limping man to negotiate the growing crowds until they reached the door. Once outside, Blair paused and shivered, blinking as though he'd just woken up. 

"Where's your coat?" 

"Must have left it in my office. Doesn't matter, I'll be okay once I'm in the truck." 

"Well, I'm parked around the corner so you want to wait here and I'll go get it?" 

"Sure." 

"You'll wait here?" 

Blair turned a grin on him, "Jim, I'm not going anywhere on this knee. Just go." 

Jim nodded and headed down the street. He found the truck where he left it, tossed the backpack inside then drove around the corner to find Blair leaning up against the wall of the nightclub, looking as much like a wayward hooker as a man ready to collapse from exhaustion. Jim could only shake his head and smile. Only Blair could combine innocence and wantonness with such obscure purpose. Good thing Jim was a cop - and straight - or he'd be pulling out his wallet and counting the bills. 

He got out and helped Blair into the truck, easing the injured knee as best he could to minimize the discomfort. He strapped Blair in, gently eased his head back onto the rest, then climbed in behind the wheel. They were barely around the corner before Blair's eyes closed and his respiration settled. He was asleep. 

Jim kept track of his vitals as he drove, no more than a habit developed and held onto over the years he'd worked and lived with this man. For all that the Blessed Protector stuff was little more than a joke, they both knew that beneath it lay a very real need for Jim to look after Blair - which was probably why they made a joke of it. 

But it wasn't really a joke - not after what had happened today, not with Blair's man of three months dumping him like that for no apparent reason. Blair had found a club and downed half a dozen whiskies on top of meds in order to numb the pain. He was hurting - and Nick had been the one to hurt him. 

The man was obviously nowhere near good enough for Blair. His partner was better off without a prick like that. But Blair was going to hurt for a while because Nick had been his first guy. A real romance, from what he could tell. In fact, for a while there, he'd begun to wonder whether that was it, whether the day was quickly approaching when Blair would deliver those lines to Jim, the ones about it being time he moved out and found a place of his own, or worse still, a place with Nick. 

Maybe Blair had been thinking along those lines himself, maybe not. But Jim had kept quiet about it because he knew, much better than Blair did, that the moment he moved in with somebody else, the moment either of them pursued a relationship permanent enough to spark off such a move \- their friendship, such as it was, would be over. 

Not that that was such a terrible thing, no. After all, it wasn't exactly normal for two guys their age to live and work in such close proximity to each other - not without committing murder. But Jim had long ago recognized that they were too close to each other for the addition of another significant other to put up with. And all along, Jim had known it would be Blair who would find someone first. He was young enough, energetic enough to pursue dating as an active pastime. Jim, internally worn and battle-bruised, only dated when the occasion presented itself - and that was no way to go about finding a life partner. Most of the women he met were either involved in the law - which he avoided like the plague now, or involved in breaking it - and he'd had far too many of those in the last few years to be even remotely tempted. 

And it wasn't as if he could trust the idea of an intimate relationship with anybody, was it? 

There had been others in his life. An ever decreasing line of women who had loved and been loved in return. Each of them, in their own way had scarred him - as he had probably scarred them. He could never do that again, never pursue something that would, in all probability, end in failure. It was just too hard. Not the pain, not even the humiliation \- but the loss, the working to get so close and then finding an emptiness facing him. 

He couldn't do that again. Couldn't open himself up inside to somebody, couldn't get to the point where intimacy was something he longed for. Perhaps that was the reason why those women in the past had left him \- he was never likely to know. All he did know was that any relationship that tried to survive without that level of emotional closeness would fade and die. 

So his chances were about nil - whereas Blair? Blair, the man everybody liked, the man women (and more recently, men) chased after. The man who could bring sunshine into a room with one of his silly jokes, a badly-timed anthropological explanation or one of his prize-winning meals. Blair had the ability to stretch the imagination of those around him - and there was hardly a person who came in contact with him who didn't notice and wonder at it. It was only a matter of time before Blair found that one special person and then that would be it. 

Sure, they'd remain friends - very little would ever stop that - but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be allowed or tolerated for them to remain so close. Jim knew, it had happened to him before. He'd already decided that when the day came, he would help Blair move out, buy him a nice house-warming present - then tell him to stay away in the nicest possible way. He knew there'd be trouble - but he also knew it was the best and only way they could go. 

That didn't stop him hoping, horribly selfishly at that, that the day would never come. 

Prospect was almost empty by the time he pulled up in front of their building. Blair remained steadfastly asleep, alcohol, pain and medication having finally caught up with him. Resigning himself to the necessary work, Jim climbed out then gently lifted Blair down from the truck. He got a few garbled words of thanks and then Blair virtually slumped in his arms. 

He got inside the building and thanked god that the elevator was working. Blair didn't so much as grunt as Jim carried him bodily into the cage and pressed the button. The ride up was quiet and Jim shifted his hold, arm around Blair's waist, Blair's arm around his shoulder. When the doors opened however, he couldn't get Blair to walk at all. With an inward sigh, he reached down and slipped an arm under the smaller man's knees and lifted. 

Taking care not to bash head or feet against walls and doors, he made it to 307. He put Blair down briefly to fish out his keys and unlock the door. Blair took the opportunity to snuggle his head against Jim's shoulder, more incoherent mumblings floating in the air. Once again, Jim picked him up, grimacing and smiling at the same time and got him inside, kicking the door closed behind him. Almost staggering now, he made it as far as the couch, turned and sat with his burden. 

His plans to ease himself out from under Blair were thwarted however, when Blair mumbled something else, brought his other hand up around Jim's neck and settled in, his head comfortable against Jim's shoulder, a look of warm peace on his face. 

"Chief?" Jim murmured, "Chief? If you just let go, you can lie down and get comfortable, okay? Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." 

"Feel'kaynow," was the slurred response. 

Belatedly remembering the injured knee, Jim straightened Blair's legs, shifted so that the man sitting in his lap didn't break anything valuable on his makeshift chair. Then he tried again, "How's the knee?" 

"Fine... jus fine, Jim. Stop worrying. Mm fine. Go back t'sleep, 'kay?" 

"Yeah, okay, Chief, you go back to sleep." Jim had to laugh to himself as he brought his arms around to hold Blair properly, so they'd both be comfortable. This was exactly the kind of thing they wouldn't be able to do in the years to come. Just the two of them sitting here - impossible \- and yet, it was kinda nice and Jim was glad he'd been the one to help Blair out when he was feeling so down. Glad that he was the one Blair called 'best friend'. 

No, Nick had no idea what he had in this man. No idea at all - because if he had, there was no way he would have tossed Blair away like a used napkin. He would have held on, treasuring every joyful aspect of this precious bundle, revelling in the fact that the man had so many interests instead of disparaging them. Would have held on as tight as Jim held onto Blair now. Held on and never let go. 

"Hey?" Hardly a word. More like a slide of air. 

"Yeah?" 

"Bruise. Ass. Hurts." 

Jim almost laughed aloud - but settled for a lop-sided grin. Without a word, he carefully lifted Blair enough to change his weight, hoping to shield the bruised buttock from further discomfort. 

"S'better." Blair murmured into his shoulder. "'S'nice." 

"Good, Chief. You just rest, okay?" 

"'kay." 

Blair settled down further in his arms and Jim glanced down at his face, so soft now in the darkness and sleep. There was something so vulnerable about that face, the clear brow, the hair half-loose and cascading over his shoulders, the nose flaring slightly with breathing, the mouth still and quiet. He seemed so young, so slight and yet, there was such evidence of his unique energy imprinted in those features, it took very little effort for Jim to see where it all came from. But this was perhaps the first time he'd ever had a chance to look, really look at Blair's face. 

It was a good face. Expressive, varied, capable of changing without warning. So much like the man himself. And ... truth was, it was beautiful in a Blair kind of way. In any age, under any circumstances, both men and women would find Blair attractive. But Jim had never really looked at it like this before. Instead, he'd simply grown accustomed to it, letting it become part of the furniture, a part of his life as much as this couch or the afghan thrown over the back. 

Now that he'd begun to look, he couldn't stop. He dialled up his sight and deliberately catalogued every tiny imperfection he could find, taking the shadows and the pale streetlight bleeding through the windows as a guide to his guide. It was like discovering a breathtaking view for the first time, pristine and untouched by future history, and Jim was awake, aware and ready to open and learn whatever his senses told him. 

Yeah, Blair was beautiful - and not just on the inside. 

As though aware of his scrutiny, Blair shifted again, making some little noise deep in his throat before settling again, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open - 

Mouth... 

Jim swallowed hard. 

That mouth... 

A suppressed shiver scattered down his spine and vanished. 

Full lips... 

This was silly, right? Really silly. Just a trick of the light, okay? 

Open, head tilted back as if... 

Silly? Yeah. So silly he couldn't take his eyes away, couldn't get the idea out of his head, couldn't make himself move to a safe distance, either internally or externally. Instead, a wash of adrenalin ricocheted around his insides and pooled in his belly, tightening his gut. 

Inviting... 

Silly, maybe - but ... really... what would it be like ... to ... 

Kiss a man? 

Yeah. Kiss a man. What would it be like, in reality to kiss a man... to kiss... Blair... 

Shit. 

He wanted to do it. For no apparent reason - he suddenly _wanted_ to kiss Blair. Kiss those warm, inviting lips... Shit! 

So what would Blair do if he did? Fight him? Okay, then Jim could back off and pretend it was an accident or something. Blair was really too out of it to know one way or the other. And if he didn't fight? Well, Blair was bi - what difference would it make to him? 

And still he couldn't drag his gaze away from that mouth, precious, perfect ... ready. 

Shit. He was going to do it. Somewhere inside, some contrary part of him had already made the decision; a snap judgement waiting for the rest of him to catch up and act upon it. He was going to kiss those lips... that mouth... 

Blair... 

Again, Blair shifted. Just a little. Just enough to send a spike of something violent from one end of Jim to the other. Head tilted back just a fraction more, mouth open, chin lifting up as though he knew, as though he wanted Jim to kiss him... 

Oh shit! 

Was he going to do it? Did he really want to? 

But what choice did he have, eh? This was the first chance he'd ever had to find out - and would probably be his last. 

So do it, Jim. Kiss the man. 

Heart pounding furiously, Jim bent his head a little, until he could feel the breath coming out of Blair's mouth, scented with whisky. He imagined Blair moving up further towards him, wanting the kiss - and his heart skipped a little, sending warnings though him unheeded. He had to do this - if only once in his life. He just had to. 

So he did. 

The first touch was gossamer, fine, gentle and aching for more. Hardly daring to dare, he took another kiss, pressing further now, letting his tongue reach into that cavern, tasting and touching, feeling the lips press against his, melt against his, opening further, letting him in, wanting him to do this. 

Moist, slick warmth, spicy and heady, drowning out his own flavours, bringing him out of himself and bringing his body alive. 

He closed his eyes. 

Darkness enveloped his kiss, flaring with heat, a tangible and exciting elixir almost too rich to bear. 

He went deeper, tongue probing against tasty flesh, against a tongue which probed his. With the smallest shift of movement, Blair began kissing him back, opening more and more until he was sucking on Jim's tongue, letting Jim suck his in return, letting the passion flow from their joined mouths through their entire bodies. 

Jim was drowning, unable to reach for a life-raft. It was too good, this. Too sweet, too dangerous, too terrifying. But he simply couldn't stop. Blair was a drug of addiction and Jim was an instant junkie. 

Blair moved, turning on his lap, reaching around his neck to draw them closer. Some tiny part of Jim not yet involved with this madness could scent sharp arousal on the air, feel the increase in blood pressure, rise in pulse. In both of them. 

Shit. 

Breaking the kiss only to gasp in air, Jim plunged in again, his eyes opening only long enough to glimpse the growing bulge in Blair's jeans. The image was imprinted on his eyelids as he shut it out, shut out what it meant, what it would mean if he didn't stop this craziness right now. 

But did he want to? Blair was so out of it, Jim could... could ... well... keep going right here on the couch and there would be no argument, no fight, nothing more than ... 

Jesus... 

He could die from this, he knew that now. Die from the pressure on his balls where Blair's body pressed against him. His cock was trapped and the fear only made it harder - oh, but what a place to be in, up against... 

Oh, god... 

He held on tighter, diving further into the kiss, partaking and joining the passion with his own. When Blair moaned into his mouth, a growl husky with desire, Jim thought he might come from the threat, the promise of what might happen if he would only let it. 

But Blair's mouth held him captive, a prisoner of taste and texture, sensuous and erotic. 

No, he couldn't do it. Couldn't take advantage of Blair like this. This kissing was bad enough. The man was drunk, on meds - the combination of the two affecting his judgement. Chances were, he wouldn't even remember this in the morning - or for that matter, probably thought that the man kissing him was Nick. 

Blair moaned again, more harsh now and Jim knew his time was up. If he didn't break this off now, Blair was going to start something it wouldn't be wise for them to finish. 

Feeling worse and worse by the second, Jim deliberately softened the kisses, brought them to a safe shallow place until he could, with one last touch, end them completely. With a gentle hand, he pushed Blair's head back against his shoulder, letting him settle there, letting him drift back to sleep. 

He sat there for an hour, feeling his legs go a little numb. Only then did he dare get Blair up and into bed. The younger man stumbled, leaned heavily on him and fell onto the futon without so much as a word. Jim removed his shoes and socks, pulled the covers up and closed the door behind him. 

* * *

Pain was a good indicator that it was time to get up. The problem was, Blair was too comfortable where he was - or rather, most of him was comfortable except his knee and his bladder. 

Oh yeah, and his head. 

Dear god, what had he drunk last night? 

No, forget that. He didn't want to know. The dying man doesn't need to know what calibre bullet has ripped the insides of his head apart. 

Fearing the consequences, Blair cracked one eye open and caught the unmistakable signs of daylight filtering though his curtains. Okay, successfully established that it is no longer night. Job one completed. 

Next? 

Bathroom. Yeah, bathroom and something to drink. Something long, wet and cool and preferably consisting of nothing more than H2O plus sundry trace elements. Okay, got a good list of priorities going here. Looking a bit more promising. 

Steeling himself against the coming onslaught, Blair pulled back the covers and only then noticed he was still dressed in jeans and shirt. His red shirt. The one he'd bought because Nick had liked it... 

Nick. 

Shit. 

Nick. 

Nick had liked the red shirt but Nick didn't like Blair any more. Didn't like his hair, his clothes, his work, his face, his body, his existence. What Nick liked was all that mattered to him and it had been plainly obvious that Nick hadn't given a damn that he was hurting Blair with his litany of complaints. 

Asshole. 

Gorgeous asshole. 

Why? 

That's all he wanted to know. Why? Why be so nice at the clinic ... so wonderful in bed yesterday morning and then, suddenly at the U, turn into an asshole? 

What had he done wrong? He couldn't remember saying anything unusual, hadn't done anything - but Nick had dumped him all the same, his list of dislikes rattling into Blair's stunned silence like bricks into a pond. 

No, there was no way Nick would just dump him for no good reason. There must be something else going on. Had to be - and he'd find out. Once he was out of this bed and feeling a bit more human, he'd call and ask, insist on meeting up somewhere. Christ, he had almost three months invested in this relationship, he wasn't going to just let it go like that without a fight. 

But, god in heaven he hurt right now. Definitely time to get up. 

Gritting his teeth, he swung his good leg over the side of the bed, elbowed himself up to half-sit. Then he edged his other leg over until it stuck out, pinned by the bandage that was only now beginning to itch his tortured skin. Damn it! 

Panting a little to control the pain, he tried to stand up. For a moment, it looked like it would work - but then his head throbbed so hard, dizziness overwhelmed him. He fell backwards, twisting his knee. 

"OW!" He yelled. "Ow, ow ow! Shit and fuck!" 

"Chief?" 

Blair pulled in a breath and held it against patience. 

"Sandburg? Are you okay?" 

"Does it sound like I'm okay?" Blair snapped back. 

Jim pushed the door open and stood there looking down at him. "Mmmn, no, I guess not. Want some help?" 

"And here I was thinking you'd just come along to have a good laugh." 

Jim raised his eyebrows and made a decent attempt to stifle a grin. "Where are we going? Bathroom?" 

"Unless you want to find me one of those hospital bottles, yes - in something of a hurry." 

"Right." 

Jim came up to the bed and took Blair's hand in his. With barely an effort, he pulled Blair upright, swung an arm about his waist and propelled him out the door. Blair tried not to put any weight on his left leg but it wasn't easy. Movement however, got a few things working again so that by the time he reached the bathroom, he was confident of handling further activities on his own. 

"Chief, can you ..." 

"Yes, I'm fine!" Blair winced as the bathroom door slammed shut under his hand. He took a deep breath and said, "Sorry!" 

A short pause preceded Jim's reply. "Aspirin and juice?" 

"Thanks." 

Blair peeled himself out of his jeans and shirt, relieving himself with a gusting sigh. Okay, one pain taken care of, two more to go. The third, the internal one, would have to wait a little longer. 

Balancing on one leg, he pulled his robe off the back of the door and shrugged it on. He paused a moment to splash some cold water on his face then hopped his way back out into the kitchen. Jim glanced up and frowned, instantly coming to help him again. 

"Hell, why didn't you just call. Come on, sit down. I'll get you breakfast \- though it would qualify as lunch." 

"Why? What's the time?" 

"Almost midday. You didn't have any classes today did you?" 

"No, no." Blair settled into a chair, wishing he could afford to return to the comfort of bed. Jim returned with a huge glass of orange juice and two aspirin, followed by an even bigger glass of water. He then stood over Blair, arms folded and waited for him to take his medicine like a man. 

Sniffing, Blair swallowed, drank, drank some more and then counted how long it would take him before he had to make another dash to the bathroom. Jim just raised his eyebrows again. 

"What?" 

"How do you feel?" 

"How do I feel? Do I look like a happy camper here? Jeez, Jim can we cut the dumb questions please? My boyfriend dumped me, I've got a bad knee, a hangover from hell and now a sentinel who needs spoon-feeding basic information. God help me." 

"Too late for that. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Now, let me take a look at that knee. You shouldn't have slept with the bandage on." 

"Don't you think I know that?" Blair snapped again, paying for it in the way his head throbbed with each word. Fortunately, Jim - stoic, solid reliable Jim - had determined to remain oblivious to Blair's mood and instead, lifted his foot to rest on another chair. Then, with careful hands, he began to unwind the bandage. As it loosened, Blair began to relax, his fingers going inexorably to the newly revealed crinkled flesh where he couldn't stop himself from scratching a little. 

Good old stoic, reliable Jim caught his hands. "Don't. You'll only make it worse." 

"But it itches!" 

"Let me." And Jim proceeded to rub gently with his fingertips the areas not purpled with bruises. "You're damned lucky you didn't do permanent damage you know. How does it feel now?" 

"Better," Blair admitted somewhat begrudgingly. Jim's fingers were working something of a miracle and he let himself relax a bit more. Pain number two taken care of. Headache under threat of aspirin. Now for the nasty one. "I ... don't suppose Nick has called, has he?" 

"Yeah," Jim nodded, short and curt. "About an hour ago." 

"Why didn't you wake me?" Blair demanded immediately, almost knocking his leg off the chair. 

"He didn't want to talk to you. He just wanted me to let you know you've got some stuff at his place. He said he's going away tomorrow so you can pick it up after that ... and leave your key at the same time." 

Blair fell back in his chair, air leaving his lungs in a helpless gust. "Fuck." Nick really had meant it, really didn't want to see Blair any more - and still he had no idea why. 

After a moment, he glanced back at Jim, "Did he ... you know, say anything?" 

Jim watched him steadily, shaking his head, "No. He just told me about your things, about him going away and then hung up. He didn't even ask if you were here." 

Blair wanted to be angry - but his head hurt too much. Instead, he just felt pathetic, inside and out. And damn, but it hurt! Nick had loved him! Had said so in as many words! How could he just... why would he just... for no good reason... and it had been so good... and fuck, now was really not a good time to have a cry, okay? 

Strong arms came around him, holding him close and not caring whether he was crying or not. He buried himself inside them, promising himself he was never coming out again, not this year, not this decade. It was good here. Jim loved him. Jim would never do something like that to him. Jim was the best friend a man could have. 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's okay, Chief. Take it easy. Just relax. It'll get better, I promise." 

"I know. It's just hard to see it from here, you know?" 

"Yeah." Jim rubbed his back a little, gently and soothingly and Blair was soothed, comforted and yes, it did feel a bit better and he was grateful that although he had a shit of a boyfriend, he still had Jim, a friend who would never just cut him out like that. Jim was far too loyal to behave like a complete bastard. 

Okay, he _could_ behave like a complete bastard - but he still wouldn't do something like that. 

"Feel up to some food?" 

Blair nodded and released Jim, letting the man stand up. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at work?" 

"Day off." 

"On a Saturday?" 

"Sure, it happens." Jim offered him a smile and headed into the kitchen. 

"But this is like, the second time this year, isn't it?" 

"A small exaggeration - but not by much." 

"Damn, we could have gone camping or something!" Blair turned away and looked out to the balcony doors where a blue sky waited, fringed by the occasional fluffy white cloud. 

"With that knee of yours?" 

"Oh, yeah - but hey, we didn't know I was going to hurt my knee. Why didn't we organize something?" 

"Well," Jim set about making some sandwiches for them both, "I wasn't sure you'd want to go without Nick and I remember him saying he hated camping - and to be honest?" 

"What?" 

Jim glanced up, giving him a twisted kind of smile, "I wouldn't have wanted to go camping with him. Sorry." 

Blair sat silent for a while as Jim finished preparing the food. He waited until Jim brought plates and coffee over to the table and sat opposite him. For a minute, he ignored his food, "You don't like him, do you?" 

"No." Jim kept his attention on his lunch. 

"You never said." 

"It wasn't my business to say." 

"And it wasn't because he's a guy?" 

"No." 

Blair frowned, some odd feeling in the back of his mind warning him that Jim wasn't being entirely honest with him. "Are you sure?" 

Jim shook his head and said around a mouthful of bread, "Chief, when have I ever interfered with your love life, eh?" 

"But you ... well, you never said anything about Nick and I always wondered," Blair paused, using his coffee as a means to get his thoughts straight. "We never talked about it, really. Me being bi. I mean, I told you about Nick and that was about it. I guess I was surprised you took it so well. Were you surprised?" 

"A little." 

"And?" 

"And what?" Jim glanced up again, revealing nothing in those cool blue eyes. Whatever he was hiding wasn't coming to the surface any time soon. "Chief, it really doesn't matter to me, okay? What does matter is ..." 

"Is?" 

Jim looked away again, "You were hurt, okay? Do I have to spell it out for you?" 

Blair had to smile, and from the inside at that. This was indeed his typical, reliable, stoic Jim, the man he could always depend on. "No, I get it. And thanks, Jim." 

"You're welcome. Now eat up and we'll go out for a drive in the forest, okay?" 

"Sounds great." 

* * *

Tall pines lined the grassy area close to the river bank, the ground below them devoid of undergrowth. The thick carpet of brown spines forbade anything from pushing through and seeking the light - so there were just the trees, then the flat grass and then the smooth granite boulders before the water swept everything else away. 

Blair sat on the blanket, his damaged knee stretched out before him, watching Jim wade along the shallow river bed, his gaze fixed on the rocks beneath his feet. Even from here, Blair could tell Jim was using his sentinel sight, testing himself, stretching his abilities in ways that nobody else could understand. Most of the time, he did it without thinking, so comfortable was he now with the gift he'd been born with. 

Jim still hated to think of himself as being different, as being special. He'd once tried to explain to Blair that there were people out there who could play a piano before a concert audience of five thousand - but he couldn't play a single note. How special could he be? Blair had tried to argue that a man who could play a concert piano was special too - but Jim wasn't prepared to listen to logic. He'd accepted his gift, accepted the responsibility that came with it and just wanted to live his life in peace - relatively speaking. Peace wasn't too easy a thing to achieve being a cop. 

But was that all he was? A cop and a sentinel? Nothing more? No wants and desires beyond the odd camping trip, a spot of fishing and working out at the gym? Did Jim's ambitions only circle around his need to do good for his tribe? Didn't he want more for himself? A wife, a family? Children? 

Jim would make an interesting father. He'd be great with kids when they were young, but as they grew older, he would find it harder and harder to talk to them. Not that Blair was anything of an expert - but teenagers had their own problems communicating - and a father who found it hard to express his feelings would cause plenty of problems. 

But did Jim even want children? 

Why hadn't they ever talked about this? 

God, he knew Jim's favourite food, favourite authors, could read almost any mood, guess his reaction to almost any given situation - and yet, had no idea about something as fundamental as this. 

He took in a deep breath, "Jim?" 

"Yeah?" Jim didn't look up but kept his gaze on the river bed. 

"You ever want kids?" 

"What?" Finding a stable position, Jim threw a quizzical smile at Blair. "Where did that come from?" 

"Just thinking." 

"Yeah, well I've warned you about that before." Jim turned back to his wading but now angled his path towards the bank. Climbing up, he stripped his waders off and left them to drain on the grass before joining Blair on the blanket. He sat cross-legged before Blair, reaching for the thermos. "You still thinking about Nick?" 

"No - I was thinking about you - and don't try to change the subject. Have you ever wanted kids or not?" 

As Jim poured out coffee into a plastic mug, he shrugged, "Have you?" 

Blair shook his head and chuckled, "Man, you are so evasive some days." 

"And you, my friend, are pushy." 

"Hey, if I'm your friend, I have to be pushy. I wouldn't get anywhere with you otherwise." 

"So, has being pushy got you anywhere with me?" 

"Right now, it's getting me nowhere at all." Blair shifted a little and turned his best pleading look on his friend, "Come on, Jim, tell me." 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"I mean, no, I've never thought about having kids." Jim wrapped both hands around his mug and regarded Blair steadily, as though expecting a barrage of questions he didn't really want to answer. 

So Blair saved him the discomfort for once, "Because of your senses?" 

"Pretty much. What about you?" 

The abrupt change in the direction of questioning forced Blair's gaze away, forced other things, other memories to the surface he'd successfully ignored for most of the afternoon. "I don't know. I guess, maybe sometimes I thought I'd like to have kids. And well, with Nick, I thought I ..." 

"It's harder to become a father when your life partner is a man?" 

"Something like that." 

A long silence filled the forest then, fringed with only the faint rustle of pine needles above them and the more obvious rustle of water over rocks before them. 

"So," Jim ventured into the danger zone, "Nick was it, was he?" 

"God," Blair breathed, keeping his gaze on the distance, "we're talking about him like he's dead." 

"Sorry." 

"It's okay. I'm doing it too." 

"So, was he?" Jim's question was softly voiced, making Blair shiver inside. 

And that was the big question really, wasn't it? Three months and he should know one way or the other. He thought he had known - but it seemed Nick had thought differently. 

Again, why? 

"I think," Blair murmured after a moment, "he might have been, yeah." 

Jim got up abruptly and walked to the water's edge. His movement made Blair look at him. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jim lifted his head and gazed up into the trees opposite. "So you'd go back to him? If he asked?" 

"I think so." 

"And what if I ..." Jim's voice trailed off, lost itself in the thick forest. 

"What?" 

"He's not good enough for you, Chief. Not if he treats you like this. If he's playing some stupid game, then he's just being vicous. If he isn't, then he's just too dumb to appreciate you. Don't make the mistake of going back to him." 

Stunned, Blair could only stare, his mouth hanging open. After a moment, he collected himself, "Is that an order, Jim?" 

"Damn it, Blair, I'm serious!" Jim whirled around, all gentleness gone, his eyes hard and sharp. "What's the longest relationship you've ever had? Nick, isn't it? Three months or so and you think you've found the man of your dreams. And what about women, eh? Just two minutes ago you virtually said that you thought you'd had to give up hopes of having kids because you wanted a man in your life. Is it worth it? Having Nick, being treated like a doormat and sacrificing something that's important to you - all for him? Was it really that good with him?" 

Blair's eyes stung. He pulled in a breath and heaved himself to his feet, more than ready to face Jim's anger with his own. "What the hell would you know about it? You had dinner with us twice! Nick came to the loft a total of three times - and you went out on stakeout every time. You hardly ever saw us together - how the hell would you know if he was worth it? Jeez, Jim, he just dumped me for no reason that I can see - but that doesn't mean he didn't have a reason!" He drew himself up, clenching his jaw against saying other things he knew Jim didn't deserve. "And I've sacrificed plenty for you so don't you start telling me how to live my life, okay?" 

With that, he bent down enough to grab the blanket and turned to limp his way between the trees, hoping he'd find the truck without getting lost. 

"Chief, wait!" 

"No, damn you! I thought you'd understand. I thought you'd at least..." 

Jim caught up with him, coming around and grabbing his shoulders, forcing him to look up. "Chief ... I ...I..." The strong, square face worked hard, but ultimately arrived nowhere fast. Blair didn't have the patience for this. 

He twisted out of Jim's grasp, dropped the blanket and spread his arms wide. "What do I have to do to make you understand? This hurts!" He thumped his own chest, "In here. I hurt, Jim. I don't need you to ..." But he couldn't go on. He really couldn't. Instead, he turned away, snapping in gulps of air as the only remedy against pathetic tears. 

Jim came close, tentatively placing hands on Blair shoulders, rubbing gently. "I'm sorry, Chief." 

"I know." And Blair leaned back and Jim wrapped arms around him again, for the second time that day, offering the only real comfort Blair could appreciate in this state of mind. Jim had always been good with touching, as though in his often distant and repressed world, it was the only thing which kept him grounded, connected to real life. Blair had never been so glad of it, for whatever reason. 

They stayed like that for a good few minutes before Blair dared to speak the words waiting in the back of his mind. Fear clenched at his stomach, but he had to say this. "Jim, would you do me a favour?" 

"Sure." 

"No, don't agree before you know what it is." 

"Okay, tell me." 

"Would you ... would you go and talk to Nick? Try to find out what I did wrong?" 

Instantly the warm body behind him stiffened - but Jim didn't let go. Instead, he turned Blair around until they were facing each other. Jim just stared at him a moment, blinking slowly, jaw clenching and relaxing as though reaching for enlightened wisdom and not finding it. "You," he said eventually, "want me to go and talk to Nick?" 

"Yeah. I mean, I'd try but I know he won't say anything to me. Not if he's angry." 

"Did he seem angry?" 

"No - but that doesn't mean anything. Sometimes you don't seem angry and you're furious." 

Jim didn't smile. "And what if he tells me something you don't want to know?" 

"Like?" 

"Like he's found somebody else." 

Blair stepped back, eyes wide, "What?" But Jim was already reaching for him, putting hands on his shoulders again. 

"Take it easy, Chief. It's just something you have to think about." 

"There's _no-one_ else, Jim! I trust him! He couldn't lie to me. I would have known, okay?" 

"Okay, okay, I believe you." 

But Blair didn't want comforting, didn't want platitudes, didn't want the soft and easy option of backing away and putting this one down to experience. Three whole months of his life invested in a relationship he'd thought might really go somewhere and yeah, it was the longest he'd ever stayed with anybody and yeah, he'd thought it would really work but fuck, he needed to know what went wrong! 

"Jim, please, just talk to him, okay? Help me get him back!" 

Jim froze. 

Those hands left his shoulders as Jim's gaze seemed to turn inwards for long, silent seconds. He stood up straighter, blinked once then took in a deep breath. "No." 

With that, he turned, picked up the blanket, retrieved the thermos and waders, and headed back to the car, leaving Blair to make his own way. 

* * *

Jim sat on the couch, remote in his hand, idly flicking from one channel to the next paying no attention to any of them. Long, thin shadows streaked across the floor from a moon bright and early in the sky and every now and then, he would get up, wander to the window and gaze out, studying the majestic blue disk with eyes that hoped for hope. 

Blair was taking a long time in the shower. It was hard for him to move around with his knee so bruised and incapable of bending too far. It would be a good week before he regained some mobility, a week during which Blair wouldn't be able to move far from the loft and certainly wouldn't be going into the station. 

So Jim would have to do without him for a while. It wouldn't be the first time. Blair had been injured a couple of times while on a case - and when finals time arrived, he was more often than not buried beneath a pile of papers. Jim could function perfectly well without Blair at work. Didn't mean he wanted to. 

The bathroom door opened with a loud click, disturbing the silence, and quickly, Jim found a channel, turned the volume up and took another sip of his forgotten beer. Blair had hardly spoken a word to him since they'd left the forest - and really, he couldn't blame the man for being angry. But - 

But there was just no way on this earth Jim could bring himself to help Blair get back together with Nick. 

It was the Blessed Protector in him. The part of him which needed to keep Blair safe. The part which knew there would only be more pain ahead if he did something so foolish. The part that had never liked Nick and now, never would. The part of him that wanted - 

No. 

Won't think about that. Can't. It's too late. It didn't happen. 

"Jim?" 

He glanced up to find Blair standing at the end of the couch, dressed in jeans and sweater, hair pulled back, glasses on as though he meant serious business. He held a shoe in one hand. 

"Would you help me with this?" Blair gestured with the shoe. "I still can't bend my knee enough." 

"Sure," Jim replied, waving him to the coffee table. Blair sat, sticking his foot up onto the couch beside Jim and handing over the shoe. Jim stuck it on his foot and did up the laces. "You going out somewhere?" 

"Yes." 

Jim tried not to frown - and almost succeeded. "You can't drive." 

"I can manage." Blair was already up and heading for the coat rack. 

"You don't need to, Chief. I'll take you. Just give me a minute to..." 

"No." Blair didn't pause long enough to even throw Jim a glance. "You'll only get angry again and I ... well, I'm sorry I asked you to talk to Nick, okay? It was outta line, man and I know it. But I'm going to see Nick now, myself. So, you know, don't wait up for me." 

The leaden words were delivered with such finality, Jim was half out of his seat before he could stop himself - but he was nowhere near fast enough to stop Blair. The door slammed shut, echoing a horrible finality within the confines of the loft and with a deep sigh, Jim sank back to his seat, his gaze firmly on that damned door. 

Why? 

That's what Blair wanted to know. Why? 

So did Jim. 

And for a moment - one short terrible moment - he seriously considered following Blair. Considered driving straight over to Nick's place and sitting outside somewhere in the shadows, listening in, invading the privacy of a relationship he'd paid so little attention to before now. 

But he hadn't wanted to know, had he? Hadn't wanted to notice that it had been three months and Blair still seemed happy. Hadn't wanted the details and the dinners and the long phone calls. Hadn't wanted to contemplate the growing bond, the increasing intimacy between Blair and this guy, a bond which would, given enough time, come between sentinel and guide. 

There were two immutable laws here - the one which insisted Blair be happy and safe - and the other which insisted things had to stay the same, never changing, never leaving these last three years to be consigned to the good old days. 

But it was changing. It had been changing since the day Blair had met Nick. Perhaps even before then. Blair had been dating and changing women so fast, Jim had lulled himself into a false sense of security, believing that the wandering nature of Blair's attention and interests would keep him immune to a serious relationship for at least another few years. It had simply never occurred to him that Blair might instead find a lasting relationship with a man - would want it, would pursue it, would go out on a night like this, injured leg and all, determined to do whatever he needed to do to get that man back in his life. 

So yes, it had already changed. There was already a bleak crack in their relationship, curried there by Jim's selfishness and desire to keep Blair to himself and if Blair succeeded tonight, the crack would become wider because Jim knew he would have no choice but to withdraw further and further from his best friend. Back away until there was nothing left of the friendship but memories. 

Maybe it was time. They'd had three good years. Three incredible years, now that he thought about it. Three years he would never forget - but it was time to cut Blair free. Time to give him what he needed. 

Blair hadn't remembered the kiss last night. Hadn't asked how he'd gotten home, how he'd ended up in his bed still fully dressed. Hadn't flinched from him each time Jim had held him today, hadn't wondered, hadn't reacted, hadn't felt anything he hadn't felt all along. 

And it didn't matter to Blair that Jim had discovered something last night. Hadn't made any difference to Blair why Jim had reacted the way he had today. To Blair, Jim was just Jim, his friend; reliable, trustworthy, dependable. Always there in the background. Sometimes somebody to grouch at, complain about or study - but nothing more. Never would be. Especially not if Nick relented tonight. 

And if he would never be any more than that, then Jim would never know what else he'd discovered last night and right now, he didn't want to know. Repression was a way of life and now - not for the first time - he embraced it lovingly, trusted that it would make him forget the way Blair had forgotten, let that kiss - those long, shocking kisses - die in the ashes of inevitability. Blair had found the one he wanted - and it wasn't Jim. 

There was nothing left for him to do but step back, be ready to walk away when the moment came. If he really had the balls, he would do it sooner rather than later - and be the good friend Blair so richly deserved. 

* * *

The street was as quiet as he remembered. Totally residential, unlike where he lived. Nick's house was one up from the corner, long lawn sloping down towards the road, gardens manicured weekly by a service the businessman was happy to pay for. 

The panic had hit the moment he'd got into his car. He'd ignored it long enough to drive away from the loft so that Jim wouldn't have any reason to stop him. But then, he'd had to stop himself, pull over and wait, force his breathing to comply, to behave, to still the tide threatening to engulf him. He'd held on to the steering wheel, gripping hard enough to hurt, focussing on what he needed to achieve, what he needed to know. Slowly, he'd brought himself back from the edge, further than the edge. Back to a place where he was cold, hard and angry. Only then had he moved, driving the rest of the way to Nick's, parking before the house. 

Blair sat in his car for only a moment. Sat and watched the windows, the doors for only a moment. A moment was all he could allow himself \- for more time would warn him against such an action, warn him out of there and away to some place where it was safe. But danger courted him, like a fickle lover, creeping upon his awareness in times of need then backing away, coy and shy. He'd long ago learned how to respond to danger. Learned to live with it, deal with it and even in some rare cases, to enjoy it. Tonight, he would embrace it with arms open, no matter what happened. Some things were worth fighting for. 

So he got out of his protective car, left the familiar safety of upholstry and chrome and ventured into the unknown. Keeping his limp to a minimum, he walked up the path, heartbeat surprisingly normal. He felt no trepidation at what he would find, no harping worry that there would already be somebody else taking his place. Nobody could take his place with Nick. 

He stopped before the door and pressed the buzzer. He didn't even count the seconds it took before there was a response he could hear. Then there were footsteps on the polished boards inside and then the door was opened and Nick stood there, looking at him, a flat, dry expression on his face, unwelcome and unsurprised. 

"Thought you might come round tonight, before I went away. I've packed your things up. I don't think I missed anything." He stepped back, allowing Blair room to go past him. 

The entrance hall was as he remembered it. Everything polished and smooth. Even the African masks on the walls and the hand-woven rug on the floor appeared gleaming in new colours, all washed clean with the promise of a new life - one without Blair in it. Through the archway, the living room appeared equally normal, equally empty. All as unwelcoming as it's owner. It seemed too strange to believe that it was only yesterday morning that they'd been here together, really together, had made love on that couch between waking and breakfast. 

Making love? Or was it just sex? 

Nick had left him alone, had walked into the bedroom and left him alone. Nick, surprising Nick, the man who had built up his own business importing goods from the Third World to sell in the States, promoting the local communities in a dozen countries with a hand in both capital gain and social awareness. Nick, the man of contrasts who drove a Mercedes but who was stintingly pedantic about recycling the smallest piece of trash. Nick, whose hair was blonde but whose beard was brown. Two faces on the one man. 

Nick, who had held him and kissed him and talked to him and listened to him - all little more than one day ago. Nick, who had seemed to work as hard as Blair to build something warm and special between them. 

"Here." 

Nick had returned and was holding a bag out for him. Blair took it, eyes absorbing little of what they held. He had no idea how much he'd left here after three months, no idea how much he'd taken with him already \- or how much he'd ultimately leave behind. 

He hadn't guessed he would feel so cold. 

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Blair lifted his gaze from the bag until it rested on the man who had shared his bed for so many nights but who had, it seemed, never really shared his life. 

"What makes you think something's going on?" 

"So, there was a prescribed time-limit, was there?" Blair spoke evenly, having, it seemed, left all his emotions out in the Volvo. An intrinsic problem with moving around a lot - sometimes important stuff fell by the wayside. "Three months and then, that's it? End of story?" 

"I was hoping to avoid a scene." Nick's voice was low, as though he was the one afraid of something, as though he wanted to do absolutely anything but stand here and talk to Blair. 

"I'll bet you were. And why is that? Too boring for you? Like me? So you wait for a perfect opportunity, when I'm injured and can't make much of a fight of it, wait until I'm in my office before you dump me? Very neat. Very polished." 

"You're making me out to be an ogre." 

Blair shrugged. The bag he held was too light to make a difference - to anything. "Hey, man, I'm just guessing here. You know me, always looking for a reason. Something inexplicable happens in my life and whoa, I'm in there asking questions. So, tell me I'm wrong, okay? Tell me it was all a mistake, a momentary aberration and it won't happen again." 

Nick turned away, took two steps into the living room and paused. He glanced down at a small table by the wall where a pottery lamp stood, a gift Blair had bought him only last week. He unplugged it, turned and handed it to Blair, "You might want to take this back." 

Blair held it in his hand, felt the weight of it, the memory of it, the thoughts he'd had when buying it, how he'd known Nick would like it, how it would fit in with the other African things he had in this house. He held it and shook his head. He didn't want this. Didn't want this memory hanging around his life. 

He pushed it back into Nick's hands. "Well? You going to tell me what went wrong?" 

Nick sighed, putting the lamp back down. He could hardly meet Blair's gaze. "What would you rather hear?" 

"Oh, you mean, what could you say to me to get rid of me the quickest? Mmn, let me see - how about the truth?" 

"I told you the truth already - but it seems you don't want to believe me." 

"And it seems that what I want doesn't matter to you any more. Funny, but about thirty-six hours ago, what I wanted looked to be on your top ten list." There was something feeding him inside. Something laced to the words he was speaking and letting loose into this void of emotion. Something hard and cruel and appearing to be wearing the colours of justice. 

But it was too late for that. He couldn't dump Nick because he'd already been dumped. Already been tossed away. Already been rejected. All the things he was, all the things he liked about his life, all the things he was proud of where all the things Nick suddenly didn't want. So, what was left? 

"Look," Nick turned back, spreading his hands in a gesture of feigned peace. "It's over, Blair. We had some fun, sure - but nobody said it was going to be forever. Why can't we just let it be, okay?" 

"Why?" Blair leaned back against the door, bag hanging useless in his hand. "Why is it over? Just answer that and I'll go." 

"It just is, okay?" Nick snapped. 

"Nothing just is," Blair growled back, feeling and feeding that thing more and more as each second went by. The longer he stayed, the better he felt. "What, am I no good for your image? Is that it? Or you don't want to be associated with the police? Eh? I'm going to keep guessing here, Nick, until you tell me." 

"Damn it, Blair!" Nick stormed up to him, dark eyes blazing, "I've had this. I tried to make it clean. It's over, okay? Over. I don't want you around any more. What else do I have to say? I knew you'd do this, you shit! Just leave me the fuck alone!" 

Two faces. One light and loving, the other dark and hating. For the first time, Blair could look at both without flinching. 

"Jesus, Nick," he whispered, "you are such a liar." 

* * *

The air was fresh and moist when Jim drove the truck up to the front of his building. Scents of the morning dashed across the street to join him, celebrating a new day. A Sunday, the day of rest. 

And rest was what he needed. After having the entire day off yesterday, Simon had called him in ten minutes after Blair had left to see Nick. A new case, a murder down by the docks. It had taken nine hours to exhaust all the leads they had and the autopsy wouldn't be finished until mid-afternoon. So rest time it was. But there was no rest for the wicked, was there? No sleep for those who stretched their limitations way beyond original design specifications. No time really to think and plan and make sure everything would work out fine. So he was home, worn out, worried, counting the number of times he'd called to see if Sandburg had arrived back from Nick's yet, the number of times there'd been no answer, the number of times he'd cursed himself for a fool for not following him or telling him the truth about ... 

About what? 

He stopped in the street, idly fingering the keys in his hand. What would Blair say if he told him the truth? Told him about the kiss. Would he shrug it off? Or would he go digging in the minefield as he usually did when Jim reacted to something in a manner that was seemingly out of character? 

Would he want to this time? 

Huh, only if Jim gave him the opportunity - which he wouldn't - and so there was little point in telling him, was there? Little point in adding to the guilt he already felt. 

He stopped in the bakery long enough to buy fresh bagels and coffee, then went home, relieved to find the elevator working for a change. Sandburg's car wasn't out in the street. There were no lights on in the windows, no early morning noises. The man had gone to see Nick and had stayed the night - ergo, they were back together. Time to start letting go. 

Juggling breakfast bags in his arms, he pushed his key into the door and went inside, heading straight for the kitchen. He dumped the bag on the counter, opened the fridge looking for the last of the cream cheese. There was just enough left. He'd have to get some more later, after he'd had some sleep. With a quick slurp of his coffee, he tore the bagels open, smeared cheese on one and took a mouthful. Only then did he notice the bundle on the couch. 

He swallowed hard. 

Leaving his breakfast behind, he approached carefully, using the first of the morning light to really look, to take in as many details as possible. Sandburg was rolled up into a ball, hair a total mess, his favourite flannel shirt twisted around him, ancient sweats rumpled and messy. One of Jim's sweaters had become his pillow and by the look of it, a not very comfortable one at that. 

He appeared to be sleeping. Jim crept closer, shamelessly using his senses to pick up whatever clues he could. If a crime had been committed, he needed to know exactly who was the victim and when the hurt would begin. 

There was no smell of sex, no stale sweat, not even a hint of arousal. Nor was there the sweetness of fresh soap and shampoo. But there were red marks around Blair's eyes and the foetal position he'd chosen for sleeping spoke more eloquently than any of the more complex messages he wasn't receiving. 

Carefully, he retrieved his coffee and bagel, returning to sit on the coffee table by his partner. He slowly finished his breakfast, keeping watch, saying nothing, moving no more than he had to. When he was done and Blair hadn't moved an inch, he put some coffee on, went and had a quick shower, then returned, dressed in comfortable sweats and feeling a little more human and less like one of the criminals he usually arrested after a night like that. By the time he returned to his seat on the short table with two cups of fresh coffee, Blair appeared ready to wake up. 

Blue eyes darkened with red were the first things that greeted him. Blinking, struggling, recognizing and then rejecting. All in slow-motion. Jim gave him a careful smile. 

"How're you doin' Chief?" 

"Go away." 

"Ah, but I have coffee." 

"Hand it over and nobody gets hurt." 

"Sit up and I'll put it in your hands. Best service in Cascade." 

Blair grimaced, shook his head, burying his face in Jim's sweater for a moment. With a groan an elephant would have been proud of, he pushed himself up until he could sit, his bad leg stretched out before him. He reached out and took the mug, wrapping both hands around it in an attempt to absorb caffeine through porcelain and flesh. When that failed initially, he opted for the old-fashioned method of drinking. Jim let him consume half the mug before he spoke again. 

"You want to tell me what happened?" 

"Where were you? I came home and you weren't here." 

"Simon called me in. A murder by the docks. I get a few hours sleep before I have to go back. Where's your car?" 

"At ... Nicks. My knee was hurting so I grabbed a taxi. I'll have to spring for another one to go get it back. I'm such an idiot." 

The friend in Jim wanted very much to go sit next to the man, wanted to fold him up in his arms and promise nobody was ever going to hurt him again - but that same friend was the one who knew things had changed and weren't going to change back and that some time - like now - he would have to force more distance, trust that Blair could take care of himself. The friend in him mourned for what was already lost, what he would lose in the days to come. 

So he just sat where he was, kept his hands to himself and asked the question as gently as he could. "What happened?" 

"Oh, nothing much," Blair's voice came out with bitterness attached, pegged to each word like clothes flapping in a brisk wind. "I talked, he listened, he talked, I listened. All very peachy, you know? All perfect. It was all a big mistake." 

Jim frowned, not reading this at all. "A mistake? Then ..." he didn't want to ask this, didn't want to know. Just like he'd never wanted to know. But he _did_ want to know so he did ask. "Are you telling me things are okay? You and Nick are back together?" 

"Back together?" Blair's gaze hitched onto the fireplace and sat there, like a budda, unmoving. "A contradiction in terms. That would imply we'd been together in the first place which appears to have been untrue. But me, the idiot, didn't get that, did I?" 

"Did you talk?" 

"Nope," Blair shook his head, looking tired and frustrated with overburdened energy at the same time. "I posed questions, he refused to answer. Something of a stalemate. I got my stuff though, so it wasn't a _complete_ waste of time." 

Jim moved. Nothing could stop him. He put down his cup, took Blair's away from him and sat beside the smaller man, turned enough to see that pale face in profile. The face that two nights ago, he'd kissed. 

And just as repression was a way of life, so was untangling memories so treated. He might forget now, but one day he would pay for it - only next time, his gentle guide wouldn't be there to help him through it. 

Blair sniffed, chewed his bottom lip and seemed to sink into the couch a little further. Jim reached out and put a hand in the centre of his back, rubbing gently. 

"Come on, Chief, give me the rest of it." 

"He was trying to get rid of me in a hurry. Didn't want to talk. He's going away for a few weeks tomorrow and he needed to finish packing." Blair reached up and ran a hand over his face. "I knew that. But I pushed him and you know, it felt good to push him. Or it did feel good up until the point where I realized I was only pushing him because I could. It stopped being fun then and I knew I was being a schmuck. He didn't want me so why was I hanging around? Only..." 

"Only?" 

"That was it, you know? That's when I saw why I was hanging around. He made it so easy for me. So easy for me to walk into the trap, head first, sticking my face in there ready for it to be slapped. I... I nearly hit him." 

"Nick?" 

"No," Blair sighed, too weary of all this. "His new lover." 

"Oh, shit, Blair, I'm sorry." 

"Walked out of the bedroom, clear as day, composed, calm, collected. Tall, good-looking, well-dressed. Supercilious smile on his chiselled face. Made me want to throw up." 

Jim left it a moment before asking a final question, "What did you do?" 

Blair hung his head, some noise like laughter welling up from his chest. "I told him you and I had been secretly sleeping together for the last three weeks. I just hadn't got around to telling him. I'm sorry, man, but the look on his face was worth it. And on his slut of a lover. The only good thing ..." 

The hard laughter dried up with a threatening hiccup and Jim reached out, putting his arm around Blair's shoulders. He offered a smile as some recompense, "Wish I'd been there. I would have got a good laugh out of it as well." Yeah, ironic laughter, bitter and twisted, Ellison. Draw the man in close as you're pushing him away. Be his best friend when he's lying about you being lovers, wondering which you would rather was the truth. 

But truth was relative. It all depended on your perspective. And after all these years, old tools like repression didn't always work. 

Only a cold-hearted bastard kicks a man when he's down - and Jim hoped that, regardless of the things he'd been through in his life, he'd managed to avoid that kind of cruelty, especially to one who had come to mean so much to him, one he was prepared to give so much freedom to. 

"I'm sorry, man," Blair murmured, his body stiff and uncompromising, as though letting loose even a little would open the floodgates. "This was more than you paid for, right? I mean, you were right to stay well clear of my love life. You're right, it is a train-wreck. Some days I wonder why I bother. Maybe I'm hiding some horrible deep-seated determination never to commit myself to anybody so I keep sabotaging my own efforts. But I trusted him, you know? I did, I trusted him - and he went and betrayed me. He'd been hanging around this guy for days and never said anything. And what's worse, I didn't even notice! God, I'm such an idiot! I deserve this, I really do. It's my own fault, man. I don't know why I didn't expect this. We seemed so close. I just thought ... I thought that maybe, if I worked really hard, if I really tried to keep it together, it _would_ work. I wanted it to work. I was so sure ... so ..." 

The voice trailed off and Blair got up, straightening his shirt, pushing his hair back from his face. He looked down at his feet and not at Jim. "Look, I'm sorry about this afternoon - or I guess, it's yesterday afternoon now, isn't it? But I am sorry. You didn't deserve that. I shouldn't have asked you to help especially when you'd just finished telling me what an asshole you thought Nick was. So you were right and I was wrong. I should have listened." 

Jim stood quickly, reaching out again, wanting to hold the man, wanting to give comfort, the kind of comfort he couldn't afford to give and Blair couldn't afford to accept but wanting to give it anyway and damn the consequences. He put his hands on Blair's shoulders but Blair pushed him away. 

"Don't, Jim. I'm sorry, but just don't, okay?" He glanced up, but only for a second. "I just can't do this any more. It hurts too much. I feel like I've been in an argument with a battering ram and I don't have anything left to fight with. I think it's time I faced the truth. I guess I'm just not the kind of guy anybody wants to be with long-term - men or women. So I think I'm just going to get out of the game, go back to the casual dating thing, have a good time and live the life of a carefree batchelor - just like you." 

"Me?" Horrified and elated at the same time, Jim could do nothing more than stare. 

"Well, you're not doing too bad out of it, are you?" Blair took in a deep breath and let it out noisily. "Look, I'm going to take a shower and try to get some more sleep. Wake me when you're getting ready to leave and I'll come with you, okay?" 

"You don't need to." 

"Yes, I do!" Blair instantly held his hands up in apology for snapping, then brushed one against Jim's arm. "Just wake me, please?" 

With that, he turned and headed for the bathroom, leaving Jim alone with thoughts that refused to be repressed any longer. 

* * *

The first few days had been the worst. As though some kind of eclipse had blackened out the sun of Sandburg's personality. He responded when spoken to, offered what thoughts he had on their current cases, did more than his fair share of paperwork and running around, operated in all respects as though he was perfectly comfortable with his life and what it was giving him for free - only there was a complete and total absence of joy in any of it. Jim had never noticed until it was gone, never realized how much Blair's enjoyment of something fired his own, fired others. 

The Bullpen noticed, in a general, fuzzy kind of way. Only Rafe asked Jim a question on the quiet; a veiled concern for the anthropologist's welfare. Everybody else kept their dealings with his partner to a minimum, polite and free of the usual banter the air could be plied with. They made no demands on him he didn't appear willing to fulfil - and for that, Jim was glad. Blair was in no mood to give anything away. 

Simon however, hardly noticed. He was too entrenched with cases and an audit from the State Department to worry about sundry consultants and whether they were happy in their unpaid jobs. Either way, Jim wasn't concerned about the hours Blair spent at the PD - only about the hours he spent at Rainier and at home, when he wasn't there. 

For those first few days, Blair didn't appear to eat very much, but then Jim casually made a few of Blair's favourite foods and gradually things improved. Not a lot, but a little. A kind of bridging space between bad and getting better. It was a whole week before he saw anything even resembling a smile on his partner's face. 

But then, without any warning, ten days after that terrible Sunday, Blair bounced back, waking up with a familiar lust for life, complaining about Jim leaving no hot water and having to sit through a faculty meeting when it was bordering on warm outside. He sailed through bathroom and kitchen, leaving chaos in his wake, before vanishing out the door with a wave, a smile and a promise to meet Jim for lunch. 

For some strange, inexplicable reason, Jim found the entire display seriously disquieting. But he had no time to dwell on it for the next few days. Work piled up and soon he found his life dominated once again with gun-runners, a school drug ring and a woman who claimed her husband was trying to kill her. He wasn't. 

* * *

"Chief?" 

"What?" 

Jim got to his feet and leaned over the balcony, "Have you seen my sleeping bag?" 

"What?" Blair's voice drifted absently out of his room. 

"Have you seen my sleeping bag?" 

"Why?" 

"Because I'm looking for it." 

"Oh." 

"Well, have you?" 

"Why would I know where your sleeping bag is?" 

With a sigh, Jim sank onto the bed. He'd meant to keep quiet about it. Had planned it to be a surprise - and now he'd had to ask about it and any minute now, Blair would think to enquire why Jim wanted his sleeping bag. 

"Isn't it in the basement, with the rest of the camping stuff?" Blair said, suddenly a lot closer than before. Before Jim could even reply, Blair was coming up the stairs, a magazine in his hands, eyes still on it. 

"Probably," Jim quickly got to his feet but Blair wasn't looking at him or the stuff he'd pulled out, the bag and clothes and other miscellaneous items they would need for a weekend away. "What have you got there?" He asked quickly, aiming for continued distraction as a means of escape until the surprise was ready. 

"Oh, it's an article in one of the magazines I subscribe to, about same sex relationships within the religious structure of the early Greek empire. It's fascinating. Did you know that ..." Blair glanced up - paused, looked around the bedroom and then frowned. Jim had the explanation all ready on his tongue - when Blair turned, mumbled an apology and headed back down the stairs. He'd returned to his room and had shut the door by the time Jim could react. 

With a frown of his own now, Jim side-stepped into the kitchen to check on dinner, turned the oven down a bit then quickly set the table. It seemed that Blair had forgotten all about eating - again. 

Unsure what to do next, Jim retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge as he called, "Chief? Dinner's ready." 

"Okay." The voice was almost normal. Almost. 

But then the door opened and Blair appeared with a fixed smile on his face, ready to be as polite as possible. Jim brought the casserole out of the oven and placed it on the table, collecting the basket of bread before he sat down. He was dishing it out, once again preparing his words when Blair beat him to it, all casual. 

"So, where are you going?" 

"Uh, I thought north for a change." Jim handed the plate to Blair - and then finally noticed what was wrong. Kicking himself inwardly, he served his own meal up and took a mouthful of beer, trying to get his smile under control. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Blair bent his head to his food, picked up his fork but didn't do any more than play. "The weather should be okay for you. I don't think there's any rain forecast. And you know, if you can't find your sleeping bag, you can always take mine." 

For one brief second, a frightening image splashed into Jim's mind - but then, as quickly, it vanished in the face of Blair's obviously subdued distress. "But then what would you sleep in?" 

"Me?" Blair glanced up, for a moment, eyes filled with hope and delight \- which was quickly damped. "Hey man, if you want a weekend away on your own, I'm not going to barge in again. The way things have been the last few weeks, I don't blame you for wanting a bit of space." 

"Yeah, things haven't been so good the last couple of weeks - which is why I thought you'd enjoy a weekend away." Jim attacked his meal. He was hungry. 

"Oh, am I a charity case now?" 

"No, of course not!" 

"Come on, man," Blair raised both hands, "you don't have to invite me along just because you think I'll be disappointed if you don't. I can cope on my own, you know." 

"Yes, I know that, but I want you to come." 

"Since when? Since I made that childish display just now?" Blair shook his head, putting his fork down on the table again. "Hell, Jim, just don't fall for it, okay? I don't need your sympathy. You go and have a nice weekend." 

"Chief!" Jim snapped, "You just aren't listening, are you? I want you to come." 

"Why?" Blair asked this as though expecting Jim to be unable to answer. 

"Because it's not the same if I go alone." 

"Oh? Suddenly you can't bear the idea of going away on your own for a weekend? You're lying, Jim, I know you. You just can't..." 

"Damn it, Sandburg!" Jim got to his feet, suddenly overwhelmed with anger he'd spent two weeks trying to bury. "You really are determined to have a fight over this aren't you? Well, let me just pop your balloon here, okay? I've been planning this for two days. I've bought all the groceries. I left them in the truck so you wouldn't catch on before I was ready to tell you. I've already got all the equipment ready in the basement and I was just trying to pack my own stuff before I said anything to you. Then I was going to wait until after dinner to give you half an hour to pack up your stuff so we could get away tonight before Simon hauls me in on another case I don't want to face right now. It was all meant to be a surprise. Go check the food if you don't believe me. Two of everything. So if you really want a fight about this, then please go ahead. I'm going to eat my dinner and then I'm going to find my sleeping bag - but one way or the other, you'd better be ready to leave by the time I am or you'll be going without your stuff. Are we now talking on the same level here, Chief?" 

Blair sat looking up at him as though he'd suddenly grown antennae. His mouth was open, eyes wide, whole body frozen mid-rant. That image held for a minute - then abruptly changed. He shut his mouth, pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. Everything about him spoke of rejection, of anger buried so deep a submarine wouldn't get to it before being crushed under the pressure. Jim could see the next movements. Shoes going on, jacket and keys collected and Blair would simply walk out without saying a word. It was all there, written across the stern square shoulders. 

And really, if Jim had been the friend he wanted to be, he would have let Blair go, would have let the rift between them open further and further until they had no choice but to part company. 

Then again, didn't they say all roads led to Rome? 

Blair was at his bedroom door before Jim found the words he needed. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sandburg? Now you're all hurt because I yelled at you? I've yelled at you hundreds of times before and you haven't batted an eyelid - apart from yelling back. These days it seems about the only way I can get through to you. So go on, sulk! Walk out and ruin a perfectly good weekend. I don't give a damn any more - but I am not going on my own because I don't want to. I want to go with you and if you can't handle that, then you'll have to put up with me being here and annoying the shit out of you weekend. Now come back here, sit down and eat your damned dinner!" 

Jim pulled out his chair and sat down hard, unable to help noticing how Blair had paused in the doorway, neither in nor out - but hovering, trying to decide which he wanted, hurt or ease. Which would take him the furthest, which would keep him warm at night, which would, in the long run, would make him regret the most. 

It took him a long time to make his decision. A full minute at least. Then slowly he turned, lifting his head to look at Jim. "I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, I know. Eat; your dinner's getting cold." 

Blair sighed and came back to the table, sliding into his seat as though something beneath the table would bite him. He picked up his fork and took a mouthful of food, eating in silence until half of it was gone. Then he glanced up, "I am sorry, Jim, really. I don't know what..." 

"Chief?" Jim interrupted - but gently, "How about we leave it for the moment, okay? How about we pretend we didn't just have that shouting match but instead are looking forward to leaving in about an hour. How about all we think about for the next hour is what we forgot to take with us last time, okay?" 

Blair smiled slowly, understanding and getting it and agreeing and conceding and believing. The best smile Jim had seen from him for weeks. "Okay," Blair nodded. "Jim, have I ever told you I love you?" 

"Not that I've noticed." No, he would have noticed something like that \- even in the context Blair meant. 

"Okay," Blair grinned even harder, "Just checking." 

Continued in part two.


	2. Chapter 2

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## The Good Friend

by Jack Reuben Darcy

* * *

The Good Friend - Part two   
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

In a typically selfless gesture, Jim offered to wash the dishes while Blair had a quick shower. Blair would have argued - but Jim only reminded him of the ticking clock and the deadline of an hour. So he put the gesture down on the list of things he really owed Jim for and climbed under the hot spray. 

He stood there longer than he really needed to before he started washing his hair - but he needed the time, the space; an area where there was no Jim so he could put some of himself back together after that appalling exhibition of self-pity he'd just pulled. 

Feeling bad had become so normal now that when the opportunity came to feel worse, he'd dived after it, like a starving man would a morsel. He would have walked out - and then spent the rest of the weekend regretting it and feeling even worse about it. 

And he'd been so sure he was getting over it. So sure he was putting it behind him, determined to aim for a day when he didn't think about Nick even once. But it was harder than he'd thought. Simply telling himself not to act so much like a victim had worked a little, but then he still had to look in the mirror and still had to wonder why he wasn't good enough. 

Shit, how could one failed relationship have such a devastating affect on his self-esteem? 

Because he'd allowed it to? Because he'd used Nick and his fine taste as a mirror for himself? Because it was his first serious relationship with a man? 

But which was it really? Was he hurting because he'd lost somebody he'd loved? Or was it more because he'd been dumped, rejected, turned away? Made to feel like he'd failed to come up to some standard he'd never known about. Which hurt more? He should at least know that much by now. Know which of these things was driving him to behave like that towards Jim - about the only person he could really trust any more. 

Well, no more! No more Poor Blair. That was it! After all that effort, Jim deserved the best company this weekend and nothing was going to interfere, not Nick, not his slimy new man, not Blair and his rattled confidence. 

Feeling better by the second, he finished up in the shower, dried off and dashed back into his room. From the noises coming from upstairs, he guessed Jim was finishing his packing and a glance at the clock told him he didn't have much time. He grabbed jeans, two shirts and a sweater and pulled them on, stuffing his feet into his favourite hiking boots. His knee was almost as good as new now, just some faint yellow marks to show for all that hideous bruising. 

Dressed, he headed to his closet and pulled out his backpack and threw it on the bed. He didn't need much - just two changes of clothes, his sleeping bag and a couple of extra blankets, toothbrush, torch, waterproof jacket. All of these landed in a tangle of confusion on his pack, where he pushed them down to make just a bit more space. He turned back to the closet and was about to take down a spare sweater when something caught his eye. Something bright, sitting on the floor behind his shoes. He bent down and picked it up. 

The red shirt. 

Blood red. 

Nick. Pain. Betrayal. Anger. Confusion. One after another, they flashed by him like pictures in a slide-show. All real, but belonging to somebody else now - just the way he wanted it. 

He lifted the shirt to his face and smelled cigarette smoke. Yuck - but how had it got that way? Oh yeah, he'd gone to that club to get drunk. He'd gone there, had one whisky and found it conflicted with the pain meds so much that he'd known he was unable to drive. So how had he gotten home that night? 

Wait a minute - Jim had come for him, that's right. Jim had had a drink with him then brought him home. He had a vague memory of being lifted and carried and then held and then ... 

And then ... 

Then ... 

"Ohmygod," he breathed, dropping the shirt. He stumbled back towards the bed, sitting hard as his legs gave way under the horrible wave of shock and disgust that rattled through him. 

But memory came on relentlessly, uncaring of the damage it inflicted. Holding Jim, kissing Jim, touching Jim, all filtered through a haze of drugs and alcohol - and he'd managed to forget the whole thing. Had blotted it out as though he hadn't just done the one thing he'd promised himself he would never do. 

Shit! 

He was bi - living with a straight man and he'd vowed, silently, never to make any kind of move on Jim that might damage their friendship. He'd done his best to avoid thinking of Jim in any other way to the point where he could look at Jim coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist and not do anything gross and uncool like drool or make some ribald comment he knew would embarrass the other man. 

And Jim had trusted him, believed he was safe living with a bi man. Hadn't voiced any concern or worry about it even though they'd hardly spoken about it, certainly not to the extent of Blair making any kind of promises aloud, even if he had to himself. 

Shit, fuck and damn! 

So yeah, he'd been out of it sure, way too unsteady on his feet to manage getting from the truck to the loft on his own - but did that excuse him from coming right out and kissing Jim? 

He stood abruptly, paced back and forth for a minute. Jim hadn't said anything. Not a word. Maybe he was hoping Blair would forget - well, he had, hadn't he? But could Blair just leave it like that? Just pretend he still didn't remember - and leave Jim without the apology he deserved? Along with the solemn promise that it would never happen again? 

No. He couldn't add another to that long list of debts owed to Jim. The man had been so good to him over the last couple of weeks. He'd put up with Blair's moods, comforted him when he needed it and done all he could to take his mind away from the hurt. He had to face this - now - before they went away, in case Jim wanted to change his mind. 

Fending off the shaking inside, he grabbed the shirt for courage and walked out into the living room. Jim had his bag there by the door, was piling the other bits of equipment they needed along with it. He glanced up. 

"Ready yet?" 

"Uh..." Blair paused, swallowed hard and nodded. "Almost." 

"Well, you've got fifteen minutes." Jim squatted down beside his bag and slipped his torch into a pocket. 

"Sure... Um, Jim?" 

"Yes?" 

"I'm sorry." 

Jim glanced up, "What for?" 

Blair's mouth dried up - but he battled on regardless, fighting shame. "That night ... when Nick dumped me ... I er..." 

Jim didn't move - but his eyes drifted down to the shirt in Blair's hands. 

"I ... I'm sorry ... " 

"For what?" The words were ground out as Jim's gaze refused to rise further than the shirt. 

Blair could almost feel his discomfort half-way across the room - but it was too late to turn back now. "I kissed you, didn't I? I kissed you and forgot all about it and man, I am so sorry. That breaks just about every rule I have - and that's saying something. I am so sorry I did that to you - and I'm amazed you didn't kick me out for it. I promise, Jim, I promise it will _never_ happen again. It was just the alcohol and the meds and I wasn't in my right mind and I guess I thought you were Nick or something. Shit, Jim, I'm so sorry." 

Jim stood, turned his gaze to the floor at his feet - but even from where Blair was standing, he could see Jim's face was flushed - and that only made him wince. 

"Jim, I'll understand it if you want me to move out. I mean, it can't be easy being straight and living with ..." 

"Chief?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Would you do me a favour?" 

"What?" 

"Would you forget about this? Please?" 

"But..." 

Jim glanced up, briefly, before looking down again. "I know you're sorry, okay? I ... accept your apology - but I ... really wasn't worried ... I mean, I understand it was the alcohol and everything, okay? I understand so if you don't mind, could we just forget about it?" 

The quiet, gentle plea was about the last thing Blair had expected - and all he could do was nod. "Sure." 

"Good. I'll go start packing the truck. Bring the rest of the stuff down when you're ready." 

"Right." 

And without another word, Jim picked up two armloads of stuff, pulled the door open and disappeared. 

Blair felt like that man on the executioner's block, little more left to do now but say a prayer and throw his arms wide. 

* * *

Jim trusted. He trusted with all his heart - and not for the first time, his trust wasn't betrayed. For the hour and a half it took them to drive to the camping spot he'd picked out, Blair talked almost non-stop - but not a single word of it had anything to do with that night. Not one word. No shy hesitations, no unguarded slips, no double-meanings. Nothing. Jim had trusted and Blair hadn't failed him. 

Too bad the same thing couldn't be said for _him_. 

Sure, he listened, kept track, offered one-word responses when necessary \- but that was about all he could manage. Guilt kept his tongue tied. Instead, he did what he usually did and let Blair carry the load on his own. 

And as usual, Blair didn't seem to mind - but that might have had something to do with the fact that he thought himself to blame, felt a need to make up for it, to talk over the rough spot he felt his transgression had scratched into their friendship. He couldn't possibly know he was actually only making it worse. How could Jim call himself Blair's friend and yet allow this lie to unfold like a fragile flower, making no effort to nip the bud before it saw sunlight? 

But what could he do? Admit the truth? How? Telling Blair that _he'd_ initiated the kiss was ... was... impossible... 

Wasn't it? 

The problem was, he hadn't thought it through. Hadn't spent more than a few dazzled seconds pondering the consequences before he'd dived in. Even worse - Blair had admitted that he'd thought Jim was Nick and had vowed he would never kiss Jim again. 

So not the response he'd secretly wanted to hear. 

Secretly? What was that, exactly? A secret within the recesses of his own mind, kept in shadows and lingering in darkness along with other sections of his past he'd rather live without? Was that how he was going to play it? He'd tried pretending it hadn't happened, tried to stop himself looking at Blair unless he had to - had even scaled down the number of times he'd touched Blair and yet the stubborn memory had refused to be cajoled into submission, returning at odd moments when he least wanted it to - like when he was in bed, alone, at night. Times when his body sprang to life, re-living those long minutes when he'd experienced sensations wholly new and exciting. 

But shit, he was too old to be making these kinds of changes in his life now! Too old and worn out - and Blair wasn't interested in him anyway \- and if he ever found out the truth, never would be. 

And still, that aching desire lingered; a need, buried so deep he didn't want to go looking for it, to try it once more, to have one more chance to kiss Blair so he could know, once and for all, whether he'd been repressing a lot more than either of them had realized. 

All scary stuff - and made even more so by the way their friendship had been stretched so thin lately. They were growing apart and anything he did or said now would only hasten the day when Blair left him for good. But wasn't that what he wanted? Wasn't it the friend-thing to do to give the man his freedom? 

And wasn't Jim, when all was said and done, Blair's friend? 

* * *

Blair needed more than a little help putting his tent up - but Jim was happy to give something he could supply so easily. The truck was parked too far away to use the lights and neither of them wanted to waste batteries on something so simple. So Jim used his sight, hammered in pegs and stretched nylon until the small dome was ready. He left Blair to set up his bed and began on his own tent. His was bigger and on any other night, he would have suggested they share - but this wasn't any other night and the words stayed in his mind, unspoken, unnecessary and unwanted. 

They'd decided not to light a fire since it was already so late - but by the time he finished putting his bedding in his tent, Blair had boiled some water on the small gas burner and handed him a cup of hot cocoa. 

The silence of the forest grew around them then, a silence filled with subtle noises, all of them invisible. With equally silent agreement, they headed down to the river and stood on the bank, watching the moon rise and leave a milky trail on the water. As far as Jim could tell, they were the only people for miles. And if he'd been a more courageous man, if he'd not lied and if he really wasn't the friend he wanted to be, he would have made the most of what romance the night had left, put down his cup and taken Blair into his arms. 

And if fantasy could become reality, Blair would hold him in return, offering up his face to be kissed, kissing Jim with a passion he'd kept in the secret vaults of his own mind for too long. 

But it was fantasy and nothing more. Because although Jim _wasn't_ the friend he wanted to be, he retained enough sense of honour to know that he would never dare touch Blair until he'd told the truth - and the time for that was not now, romantic moonlight and river notwithstanding. 

Besides, Blair was still hurting over Nick - and as much as Jim toiled in a vault of confusion over all this, he really had no idea what he wanted - nor what he could give. 

"This is so nice here," Blair's soft voice blended with the night. "I behaved like such an ass, man. I'm so glad you yelled at me, you know?" 

"That's what friends are for," Jim replied, feeling every inch the hypocrite. 

"Yeah." Jim didn't need to look to hear the smile in Blair's voice. "I'll remind you of that the next time I yell at you, okay?" 

The night was late, Jim's walls were hopelessly down and so all he could do was nod and say, "Okay." 

* * *

Sleep was considered, medically-speaking, to be a good thing. Dreams, too, for that matter - but there was no way in hell Jim's dreams could be considered good by any wild stretch of the imagination. He woke, as if released from hell, long after Sandburg was up and gone. He knew, he'd checked. 

For ten minutes, he lay in his sleeping bag, stretching his aching muscles out, hoping to start the day off in something of a decent mood - but the edges of those dreams kept coming back to haunt him, images he couldn't quite identify, threats he couldn't comprehend and a vacancy in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. 

The idle work of his conscience, no doubt. 

Eventually, he did get up, pulling on clothes and climbing out of his tent to find the spring morning cold but promising sunshine soon. Blair had collected some firewood and even now, Jim could hear him stomping back through the forest towards the campsite, murmured curses at imagined splinters a substitute for a greeting. 

It was that sound alone which brought a smile to Jim's face, dragged his mood up from muddy depths to some sandy shore where he could cope with the mess he'd made of his life. At least for a few hours. 

"Hey, Jim?" Sandburg called, coming towards him, arms laden with dry logs. "You just get up? Man, you must have been tired. I've been up for hours. This is a great spot. Have you been here before? I'll bet there are some great fish in the river. By the looks of it, nobody has been here since summer. We have to come back here again. I don't think I've heard anything but the forest since I woke up. This place is so cool!" 

The last was punctuated with logs being dropped unceremoniously on the existing collection - as if in deliberate contravention to the way Jim preferred - by arranging several piles of diminishing size so that he could always put his hand on the perfect piece of firewood at any time depending on what state the fire was in. 

He said nothing about it, though. Blair's smile, his excitement, his underlying calm meaning more at that moment than anything else. 

Instead, he gestured towards the ring of stones Blair had obviously gathered from the river, "Up for hours and you haven't cooked me breakfast yet? What kind of slave do you call yourself?" 

Blair chuckled, "One who's probably overdue for a master trade-in. I boiled some water - it should still be hot. And there's cereal in the food box." He grinned, making a bee-line for his fishing rod. "Help yourself. I'm going native. Gonna rustle us up some supper." 

Jim just watched this show, letting the vibes Blair was exuding filter into the air around them both, letting them be absorbed by his own skin, chasing the ghosts of too many bad dreams away. 

Blair was loaded up with gear and half-way to the river before he paused, turned and shouted back, "Hey, Jim? This isn't catch and release, is it?" 

Jim smiled, "No, Chief. Go on, knock yourself out." 

* * *

Blair breathed in deeply for the tenth time and caught again the hauntingly sharp scent of pine in the air. Spring was the time when trees did their growing, recovering from winter by sending sap up a trunk and out into branches starved in the winter cold. Even standing here, knee-deep in freezing water, he could smell it. Wonderful stuff. 

He'd had a few bites - but an hour's worth of fishing had so far resulted in steak for supper. However, he was nowhere near ready to give up just yet. He couldn't get the idea of fresh fish grilled over a campfire out of his head. He could almost taste it. 

By the looks of it, Jim hadn't caught anything either. He stood further down the stream, on the opposite side, casually casting his rod out then standing perfectly still, a sentinel in every sense of the word. On the surface, he appeared to be at peace, happy to be exactly where he was, enjoying the quiet of the forest, the absence of noises and smells and sights that would normally assail him in the city. 

But he was also about fifty yards away - and Blair hadn't been able to help noticing how Jim had chosen his spot, as though not quite able to spend the day that close to Blair after the revelation of last night. 

His guts spasmed again at the memory. Not just of what he'd done, but Jim's reaction to his confession. He'd been embarrassed in the extreme \- and why shouldn't he be? He'd trusted Blair not to come on to him - and Blair had blown it. Even as he'd been hurting from Nick's betrayal, he'd gone and done the same thing to his best friend, a man he'd never thought of in any other way. 

That had been a decision he'd made early on in their partnership. That, along with the determination to keep his sexuality out of the equation at least until he knew how Jim would react. And Jim had reacted really well, never questioning him, never making any assumptions and so hey, he hadn't liked Nick - but it had turned out he was a better judge of character than Blair so that couldn't count as a mark against him, could it? 

But that kiss? 

He must have been dreaming of Nick, thinking so much about the man, he'd imagined being held by him, taken care of and well... things had happened. That had to have been it because Blair had never, not once in three whole years, ever thought of kissing Jim, never wondered what it would be like to touch him or anything. He'd never let himself think about it because he'd known that's where heartache would lie. The shame of his betrayal burned deep within him. 

Besides, even if Jim wasn't straight - what chance would they have ever had in any kind of relationship? Jim had had plenty of women - but not one of them had stuck for more than a night. His marriage had only lasted two years and from what Blair could tell, half of that had been the long, slow process of breaking up. Sure, Blair was determined to stay out of the relationship game and stick to casual dating - but the last person he wanted a one-night stand with was his best friend. Christ, they had a hard enough time looking at each other as it was! 

And there was something else going on, something he couldn't put his finger on but which had already begun to worry him long before he'd pulled that childish tantrum last night. Ever since Nick had dumped him, Jim had been there for him, helped without cosseting, cared without stifling \- but each day that went by, Blair felt Jim drift further and further away from him. Was it because of the kiss? Had Jim just been helping him because he was down - but now that he was feeling a bit better, felt it was wiser to put some distance between them, in case Blair got the wrong idea? 

If that was the case, Blair would just have to try very hard to make sure Jim knew that night was a momentary aberration, influenced by outside events. He needed Jim to trust him, needed to be able to see that trust in his eyes. 

And more than anything else, he needed to know for sure that that was the only thing bothering the man. But they had some rebuilding to do \- and it wouldn't happen overnight. Rebuilding not just because of that betrayal - but because of those frail threads of distance that seemed to have grown between them. It had been subtle, over the last few months, but Blair would have been blind to have missed it completely. It was almost as though their friendship had found its natural end and was subsequently winding down. 

Oh, he'd been around enough to know that people - even best friends - didn't stay the same forever. Things changed, people changed and sometimes, relationships - even ones people relied upon - faded away. It was the natural way of things and fighting it only made it worse, in the end. 

So what should he do? Work at rebuilding? Or, like Jim, be prepared for it to make its own way? Was that kiss a convenient marker to warn them that the time was soon approaching when they would go their separate ways? 

Or, would time just show them a way back? 

No. He wasn't ready to let go yet. They were too close for three years to be enough. He'd work it out and do whatever it was that needed to be done. Jim deserved that much, at least. 

* * *

The water was cold, numbing, fearless and reckless, skittering across stones smoothed from years of action, of abrasion, of weathering, of winter and summer. Every year they got smaller, smoother, travelled further down the river until one day, they became nothing more than grains of sand gathered where the water ran out into the sea. 

The cold filtered through his waders, invading his body likes a thousand tiny leeches, sucking away warmth and leaving numbness behind. It was like growing old. 

The river was shallow here, the banks wide apart before they narrowed again, forming a canyon downstream. Two miles on, the land dropped away, creating one violent cascade after another before they were all deadened by a fall to a lake. But here, the water was slower, rumbling and sprinkled with millions of flittering sun flecks. If he concentrated, he could see through the water, see beyond the silver surface to where it was invisible, to where it was thick and heavy, moving slower and slower, an oily snaking substance winding it's way around rocks, pushing and pushing and getting nowhere, swirling and frothing and bubbling up and down and going further down, a boiling mass of clear, clean liquid crystals, velvety soft and showing so many colours and highlights in and of itself and within the flat river stones grabbed and pushed and forced along with it, a power of nothing, staying nowhere, beautiful and light, heavy and twisting with ... 

"Jim? Come on, man, come out of it. Breathe, Jim, just breathe. That's it. Take a deep breath and listen to my voice, okay? That's it, Jim. Come back to me, here." 

The voice eased its way into his awareness, linking one word to the next, giving him a trail he could follow. 

"Come on, Jim, listen to my voice." 

And feel the hand on his arm, another on his shoulder. The voice was cool and soothing, gentle but firm, something he could never ignore. Was that why Blair could always bring him out of a zone ... 

Jim pulled in a sharp breath, blinked and shook his head. Fuck! 

"It's okay, man," Blair urged, squeezing his shoulder. "It's okay. You're fine. No damage done. Just a little zone there. Nothing to worry about." 

Jim swallowed, brought himself back on line and turned to look at the man standing before him. "How long?" 

"I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention - but then I noticed you hadn't recast your line for a few minutes so I came closer to see if you had a fish - but you didn't answer me, so I..." 

"Assumed I was zoning. Yeah, right." Damn it! It had been ages since he'd zoned - and never somewhere like this. Suddenly he felt tremendously tired - a natural fall-out from so many hours without decent slumber. "I'm going to head back. I need some coffee." 

Blair took a careful step back, and collected his rod from the rock he'd left it on. "Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time." 

"Oh?" 

With a cheeky grin, Blair hauled a net out of the water, a nice six pound fish proudly on display. "Those steaks will be making the return trip." 

Jim couldn't help smiling. Blair looked ... happy. Really happy. In a way he hadn't looked for months. 

"I guess you get to try out that recipe after all." 

"Yeah! Herbs, garlic, a touch of something exotic. It'll be great, man!" Blair turned and headed for the bank, walking carefully as he judged which rocks he could walk on and which would tip him into the water. After a moment, Jim followed, reeling in his line as he went. 

"Chief?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You never said ... about Nick. Do you mind ..." 

Blair hardly faltered in his progress. "No. What?" 

"Do you think you were in love with him?" 

Gaining the bank, Blair paused before turning around, waiting for Jim to join him. He looked up, face as open as it would ever be, "I honestly don't know, Jim. I guess I assumed I had to be otherwise we wouldn't have lasted three months. I've never stuck with anybody that long." 

"You stuck with me." 

Blair's eyes widened, surprised - then he smiled slowly, "Yeah, more fool me, eh?" 

"Well," Jim let the humour drift over the awkward moment, "you can keep sticking if you can catch fish like that. Come on, get the knife and get it cleaned before it begins to spoil." 

"In this weather?" And then Blair was off again, rattling with his usual enthusiastic conversation. 

Jim followed along behind, allowing himself to become a piece of flotsam in the tide of hurricane Blair. The man made so many things so easy, the way he filled gaps, flexed himself around things other men would baulk at. But it was like he knew no boundaries, no lines over which he didn't dare step - and not for the first time, Jim was envious at how easy it appeared to be for him. Jim's own psyche was a minefield for which the map had long since been lost. Not even _he_ knew where all the explosives were hidden. Sometimes it seemed the least he could do was to bury _everything_ in the hopes that nobody else would get hurt with accidental shrapnel. 

The afternoon flowed peacefully, a silk glove of idleness wrapped around a hard spring day. Jim took a walk along a hill overlooking the river. Blair followed, choosing a parallel course because Jim didn't trust him to use his knee too much too soon. But they kept their peace, fragile though it was and Jim relaxed into it, hoping it would last the weekend. 

Blair hadn't loved Nick. 

Blair wasn't sure about it - but Jim was. Blair hadn't loved Nick. This was a good thing for Blair as it would mean his healing would be easier, less painful and much quicker. However, it was not a good thing for Jim. Not now, never would be. Because... because... 

Because he no longer had an excuse not to tell Blair the truth - other than his own cowardice. 

He walked through the forest, keeping the river to his left, keeping track of Blair staying close enough but not intruding. 

Not intruding? Hah! 

Blair intruded upon everything in his life. From morning to night - and now, into his dreams as well, as if there was no sacred ground left. 

And Blair's presence intruded on his soul, too. It was a physical presence, one framed in a sturdy, supple body which drove itself into the forest like a hungry urchin, needy for experience. A presence gifted with a face with so many expressions, all of which were open and free, giving and unafraid of being hurt. Youth, delight and awe dwelt in those eyes and Jim knew, as he walked between trees much older than he, that he wanted those things for himself. Wanted to feel that way again, if only fleetingly. 

He couldn't let Blair go. Even though he knew he had to. Even though he had no idea what it would mean - he still couldn't let go. 

Not now, not ever. 

His need was too great, his desire too shy. 

He had to know what this feeling was. He had to tell the truth and pay the consequences. Had to risk losing Blair forever if the man couldn't forgive him. 

He simply had to know. 

* * *

Surrounded by hills on all sides, darkness came quickly, but by then Jim had a fire lit and Blair was busy baking potatoes wrapped in foil and sprinkling herbs over his prize catch. 

Conversation was sparse but comfortable, in reality, the first time in weeks it had been so easy for Jim. But not easy enough. Sure, he tended to his jobs with his usual diligence, but his senses seemed on hyper alert, all too aware of every single move Blair made, every shift in his voice, every flash of colour in his hair from the firelight, every move that mouth made as he talked. 

Jim knew this place. It was called hell in some societies. 

He opened a bottle of wine, poured it out for them into steel mugs then sat back and sipped and watched Blair move, a symphony of life, ignorant of the affect he was having on Jim. Ignorant of how few of these precious moments were left. 

There was just enough left of the good friend in Jim to wait until they'd devoured the meal, but to wait longer would have had him squirming in purgatory. He'd eaten and tasted nothing, afraid of telling Blair that his senses were playing up again. He'd made the right noises about how good the fish was and how the potatoes were perfect - but he could have been eating sandpaper for all the difference it made. 

He'd put water on to boil when the cooking was done, so by the time they were finished eating, he could wash up. He knelt down by the fire, keeping his gaze on the water, on the plates, on everything but Blair. When he felt as secure as he was going to, he began, "You only remembered last night, then?" 

"Huh?" Blair looked up from the fire. He was sitting on the ground, his back to a rock, feet stretched out before the flames. He held a cup between his hands, enjoying the second bottle of wine. 

"You know," Jim sank his gaze back to the dishes again, cursing himself for having taken that glance in the first place. "Last night? You didn't remember ... you know ... before then?" 

He heard a massive swallow and then a faint waver in the voice, "No. I ... er, found the shirt in my closet and that... well, that reminded me - and suddenly it all came back." 

"So, how much do you remember?" He'd feared this question would be hard to ask - but it wasn't. In fact, it was quite easy. Hurt could be like that. 

"Not much. I remember you had a drink with me and then I think we went home." Blair paused, sipping his wine as though for courage. "I have vague memory of being in the elevator and you carrying me into the loft." 

Jim had to pause here, pause and examine something strange going on inside \- but it seemed unwilling to give up any answers just yet, so he battled on. "And?" 

"And?" Again that waver in the voice. "Jim, I really don't think this is a good idea, you know? If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it. I feel bad enough as it is." 

"Chief, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, really," And Jim was amazed at how sincere he sounded - largely because he _was_ sincere. And that was when it struck him what this strange feeling was. Power. He had a power here to ease some of Blair's hurt, to make him feel better about something - and he intended to use it. "Just tell me what you remember." 

"You're not angry?" 

"I'm not angry." 

Blair sounded unsure. "Uh, okay then. I remember you carrying me into the loft and then I don't remember anything but feeling comfortable and warm. Then there's another gap and the next thing I remember is ... kissing you." He came to a halt, leaving an obvious apology in the air between them. 

Jim, his purpose clear, began scrubbing the bottom of the pan, noting how the water instantly went black. "Do you want to know the rest?" 

"Jim, you don't have to..." 

"By the time I got to the bar, you were already pretty smashed. You had another couple of drinks while I was there and you were obviously upset. You told me Nick had dumped you. You wanted to talk more but you were wasted. So we headed home and you fell asleep in the truck. When we got there, I had to almost carry you into the building. By the time we got to the third floor, you were out of it. I did carry you." 

"Jim..." 

"I couldn't just dump you down with your knee injured so I sat us both down on the couch. You didn't want to move so I just stayed there, holding you." 

"Please, Jim, don't ..." 

"I probably sat there for about fifteen minutes before I kissed you." 

He continued washing dishes in what had suddenly become a stiff, sharp silence. And he felt no satisfaction at having revealed the truth, no triumph that he'd finally done the right thing, no hope that it would all work out fine. In fact, he just felt worse. 

He finished up, dried, packed the things away and tipped the water out. He dried off his hands, topped up his wine and took his seat, more or less beside Blair but nowhere near close enough to fall prey to a wildly swung fist. 

But Blair never used violence. He'd never needed to. 

"Did you think I wouldn't remember?" The question came out hard and harsh, making Jim flinch. 

He swallowed, his own voice much more shaky than it had been a moment ago. "At the time? I'm not sure I knew one way or the other." 

"I don't believe you!" Blair hissed, his entire body almost vibrating with anger. "And you let me going on thinking all day that I'd ... Shit, Jim!" 

"I'm sorry." A whisper, no more. 

"Oh, right. Sorry for what? For kissing me and then lying about it afterwards, letting me feel like I'd betrayed your trust?" 

"There didn't seem any point in telling you if you didn't remember." 

"But I remembered a whole twenty-four hours ago!" Blair sucked in air, obviously trying to contain himself. He pulled in his bottom lip and like that night, two long weeks ago, Jim became transfixed by that mouth in profile, watched how in so many ways, it expressed whatever Blair was thinking and feeling. 

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered again, that vacant place inside him opening up again now that it was dark. "It's just taken me all day to work out how to tell you. You know I'm not good with words..." 

"That's crap, Jim and you know it! You can find the words any time you want to! You do it all the time - as long as it's nothing dangerous to your fragile little psyche. God, I could hate you sometimes!" With that, Blair set down his cup, got to his feet and walked off into the night. 

* * *

God, this was insane. Absolutely insane. It made no sense whatsoever. 

And, like a great, screaming idiot, he'd walked off without asking why. Again. Not that that made him turn and walk back - he couldn't. He just couldn't face Jim right now or he really would end up hating the man. 

His best friend. 

Lies. All of it. And the one person he'd thought he could trust with his life had ... 

Damn it, Jim was straight! What kind of game was he playing here? 

Blair stumbled and sank to the ground, nursing a knee too punished by recent activity to be too happy. 

Oh sure, he knew he'd forgive Jim. Knew he had no choice. Knew that he owed the man that much at least. Knew that the lie was small fry in comparison to some. 

But it seemed that every time he took a step forward, he took another back. Today had been so good - even with Jim's zone - though that now fell into some kind of perspective. Jim's senses always played up when he was emotionally disturbed about something. Still, at least that meant he'd already been paying for his omission. 

But, shit! Why? Why couldn't he trust anybody? Why... why... Oh, fuck! 

Why had Jim kissed him? 

* * *

Jim worked his way steadily through the wine Blair had opened, sitting on the ground close to the spot Blair had vacated, tossing sticks of wood on the fire, one after the other. He avoided staring into the flames \- but that was because he didn't dare risk another zone. More than likely, Blair would just leave him in it for the duration. 

At least he'd done the right thing. At least he'd finally been the good friend. Now Blair would hate him and would leave him and they could get on with their lives. And it was time, wasn't it? Blair could go out and develop proper relationships, find a man or a women with whom to share his life, somebody who could deal with the intimacy required. He wouldn't have to look back and worry about how his actions would affect somebody who needed him too much. 

Yeah, there was good in this. Blair would hurt for a while, feel the betrayal all the more keenly because if floated so hot on the heels of Nick's efforts - but at least Blair would get something positive out of it. It was cleaner this way. Neater. More organized. 

Didn't mean he didn't feel like shit, though. And he did. That vacant part of him had opened wide now, was busily consuming wine which tasted like water, probably expecting to get drowned. But he had to fill it with something. With any luck, he might be able to sleep without those dreams now. 

"Jim?" 

A hand touched his shoulder and he nearly leapt a mile. He hadn't even heard Blair returning. His hearing was playing up, too. The fire was crackling far too much but everything else was ... was... 

Blair was leaning over him, "Jim? Are you okay? Can you hear me?" 

Leaning over him making noises he could hardly hear but he could see those lips move, see the concern, see that mouth so close to his and he had to know, just had to know even though everything was ruined now, lost and gone and never to be returned, he just had to know whether what he'd felt that night was real or just his imagination ... 

"Jim?" 

He shook his head, frightened and trembling and he put thought into action, direct action, needing too much to pause and analyse, ponder and worry. Need overwhelmed him and he simply reacted. 

He reached up with both hands, held Blair's face between them, pulled him closer and kissed him. Hard. 

He tasted a faint hint of red wine, something of smoke and fish and then \- 

Blair pulled back, slapping his hands away. "What the fuck do you think you're doing!" 

Jim scrambled to his feet, hearing, taste, everything suddenly back on line - in force. "You don't understand, Chief ..." 

"Don't understand what?" Blair stood there before him, eyes blazing with anger, not backing down, not giving up. "You've got five seconds to explain it, Jim. Just five." 

"I..." Jim swallowed, everything inside him swirling around like it was a shipwreck or something. He felt his face flush. He felt sick. "I'm sorry ... I just... " 

"Jim!" Blair's warning was all he got. 

Jim looked at the other man, looked and saw that the power had shifted from his hands into Blair's. He gave it up unwillingly. "That night when I kissed you ... I ... liked it. I think." 

"You _think_? Oh, I see. Right, I get it now. You think you might like kissing a guy and so I'm the experiment, am I? Have I got this right, Jim? Man, you are unbelievable! I rake myself over the coals because I think I've betrayed our friendship by kissing you - only it turns out you've done all the hard work yourself. What the fuck do you think I am? Some two-bit hooker? Happy to be mauled by any guy who comes along?" Blair paused only to take in breath. "You questioning your sexuality, Jim? Fine! Just don't do it with my body! Keep your hands to yourself! Good night!" 

* * *

It was barely dawn when Jim got out of bed. Barely light enough to see where his clothes were - but what was the point of being a sentinel if you couldn't use it to your advantage now and then? So he got up, pulled clothes on, rolled up his sleeping bag, packed everything else and tossed it all out of the tent. 

The sky was clear and the faintest blue so far, promising a great day ahead - but he didn't stop long enough to think about that. He immediately began pulling tent pegs out, tossing them onto a pile with as much contained anger as he could manage. His tent was collapsed and ready to be folded when Sandburg made an appearance. 

Dressed. Hair pulled back. Ready for battle. 

Huh. Like Jim was going to give him a chance. Like he deserved one. Like he hadn't flown off the handle at nothing. Like Jim was some sort of criminal. Like he was worse than Nick. Like what he'd done was worse than sleeping around on your boyfriend. 

Jim needed a shower. He felt dirty. 

He'd always thought himself a decent judge of character - but he'd never been so wrong in all his life. Sandburg wasn't the one with the repression problem. He wasn't the one who reacted in anger first and repented later. When _he_ got angry, he meant it - big time. 

How the fuck could he think Jim thought so little of him? A two-bit hooker? Mauled? For fuck's sake! 

Yeah, he felt dirty. He needed more than a shower. 

He needed... Christ! Humiliation had never felt so filthy, making him disgusted with himself, making him relive the rejection again and again, Blair's response echoing inside his head like a death knell. He'd wanted something so simple, so vulnerable - he'd exposed something of himself, trusting as he did so - but apparently it was all too hideous for Sandburg to treat him with a little respect. 

He had to get out. 

By the time he had his tent packed up, Sandburg had his almost down. Jim ignored him and carried the first load of stuff off to the truck. All the way out and all the way back he could hear Blair muttering to himself. It rasped against his impatience so quickly, he stormed back to camp, letting his anger run free. 

"You got something to say to me Sandburg, say it normal volume. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut." 

"What? Like you? Mr Silence? Right! Fuck off, Ellison!" 

"All that muttering and that's the best you can do?" Jim grabbed his sleeping bag and the box of food, heading back towards the truck. "Try harder, Sandburg. You did better last night." 

"So did you. At least you managed to fake the surprise a little. Fucking hell, Ellison, what did you think I'd do? Jump into bed with you? You're a fucking moron!" 

"Why in god's name would you think I'd want to go to bed with you?" Jim stormed back, picking up Sandburg's tent bag so he could shove it inside. "You're assuming far more than you deserve. That's a real neat attitude you've got there, you know? Real compassionate, real understanding. No wonder they're all falling at your feet, wanting to marry you!" 

"Fuck off!" Blair bellowed, giving away just how much that comment hurt. "At least I try! At least I put the effort in, stick with one person more than five minutes! At least I'm not afraid to say what I think, not afraid to feel something for someone. Not afraid that I'm going to lose myself if I ever get close to somebody!" 

Jim tore the tent out of Sandburg's hands, "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about! What the hell do you think I've been doing the last three years, eh? Do you have any idea the shit I've had to put up with you around?" 

"Yeah, well I can fix that!" Blair grabbed the tent back, shoved it into the bag and pulled the string. He snatched the rest of his stuff and went to push past Jim. 

"Yeah, you can." 

Blair got all of three steps before he stopped, turned and stared at Jim. For once, Jim couldn't read a single thing on that face. 

"You kicking me out?" 

"You kicked yourself out, Sandburg," Jim snapped back, enjoying the moment, squeezing it for all it was worth. The power was back in his hands. He came closer, deliberately towering over the smaller man, "And just in case you were wondering," he hissed, "turns out I was wrong. I didn't like kissing you at all." 

With that, he turned and headed for the truck, leaving Blair to bring the rest of the stuff. Ten minutes later, they were on the road, the silence a protective wall between them, a barrier between past and present, a codicil for life. 

* * *

Blair couldn't stick around in the loft for more than a few minutes after they got back. He just couldn't. Couldn't sit in his room and close the door, couldn't stay and listen to Jim moving around, couldn't bear to be within those walls without wanting to tear them down. 

So he didn't stay. He grabbed some books, his keys and left, slamming the door behind him. He bought a paper and headed to his office where he could at least get some peace for a few hours. 

Once in, he locked the door, sat, put his arms on the desk and buried his face in them. 

When was the last time he'd been this angry for this long? That's right \- when Roy had been murdered, his boxing career and life ended because of greed. And how did this compare? Was it worse, better or just as bad? 

Back then, it had been Jim who had reminded him of the need to remain calm and objective in order to solve the case. Jim had understood his anger, had sympathized and supported - but the steady reminder had come nonetheless. Truth was, he'd been angry with Jim for telling him to calm down. But that had been an anger only short-lived as his natural good sense had reasserted itself. 

So, was this worse? Was what he was feeling now any better? Back then, a friend had been betrayed and murdered. 

Last night, a friendship had been betrayed and killed. 

No. It couldn't be that bad. 

Couldn't it? Jim was kicking him out, after all. So, what if he went back and apologized and talked and cleared the air and did whatever was necessary to build those bonds back up again so they could... 

But, fuck it, he didn't feel like apologizing! This wasn't his fault! And there wasn't a hope in hell of Jim saying anything. Jim just wanted him out, wanted him gone and his life returned to normal. 

Whatever the fuck that was. 

Blair sat up, pulled the newspaper towards him and opened it to the section for real estate. He could afford a few dollars for something small, something quiet, something on his own. Something where what he was wouldn't be made a mockery of. 

And he had to face it - Jim didn't need him any more so what the fuck was he waiting for? 

* * *

Jim had never realized before just how short the balcony was but after an hour of pacing it, he had every brick memorized, every inch carved into his feet like razor blades. Four paces and turn - and even then, the last pace was shortened. But this was the best spot. The best place to lie in wait. 

He turned and paced again. Four steps and turn. Four steps and turn. Better than a mantra. Better than saying I am calm when he wasn't. Better than forcing calm in from the outside like some new-age hippy neo thing with long hair and leather jewellery from god knew where. Better than pretending he wasn't feeling something. Much, much better than repressing and hiding and shifting and stifling his words and keeping his looks and his hands and his desires to himself. Better than running and putting on pretences that it wasn't hurting and carving pieces out of him that would require land-fill to smooth over. Better than having to listen to the neo-hippy punk thing pushing him and demanding to know what was wrong but never, never ever really listening to what it wasn't or what it might be but only paying attention to the words, not the reluctance behind them, the need to keep it inside, to keep it hidden, the shame and indignity of explaining things like feelings and needs and wants, of exposing it all to the open air so it would fester and be stared at and poked at by somebody who really, despite all his words and his help with senses and his back-up and his strength, didn't really understand a single fucking thing about him. 

Four steps and turn. Four steps and turn. 

And then he heard it. The bit that he was waiting for. The grinding noise of an ancient engine, too needy of serious work, too unlikely ever to get it. 

He didn't need to look down to see the Volvo come along the street - but he did. Some perverse part of him wanted to see it, wanted to rub salt into weeping wounds. Sandburg hadn't gone for good. He was back, for tonight at least. Good. It would hurt for him to have to come back here, hurt that he couldn't just dump himself on somebody else for a change. Couldn't extricate himself out of this by simply walking out when it suited him. 

Good. Blair needed to hurt for a change, needed to feel what it fucking well felt like to Jim. 

With a satisfied grunt, he turned and headed into the kitchen. He stood there and waited. When he heard the key in the lock he paused by the fridge and timed his act carefully. As Sandburg entered, Jim removed a beer, twisted off the cap, took a mouthful and walked past the man like he didn't exist. He settled onto the couch and turned the television on, putting the volume up enough so Sandburg had to listen to it. His reward was to hear music coming from the other bedroom, loud, driving, blasting the air around Jim. 

He dialled his hearing down, turned the television up and settled in for a long battle. 

* * *

Nights, days and more nights passed and Blair was no closer to finding anywhere else to live than when he'd started four days before. The wear and tear was getting to him. Making phone calls in the morning, seeing places at night - finding them all to be either too expensive or so cheap, he wouldn't let a rat live in them let alone a human being. At this time of year, a university town rarely had cheap accommodation still vacant \- and if it did, chances were it had been condemned by the city council. 

Still, at least it meant he got to come home late each night - that little less time he had to spend with Jim. 

Hah - what a laugh! Time spent with Jim? How about time spent avoiding Jim, and watching Jim avoid him. Time spent working out the many and varied ways two men could share a loft without ever needing to say a single word to each other. Not that the temptation didn't sometimes sneak up on him. Like when Jim had decided to reorganize the fridge by putting all of Blair's food on one side and his own on the other, leaving a marked line on the shelves between them. And every time Blair left something, _anything_ lying around any part of the loft that wasn't his bedroom or the bathroom, it was removed - and tossed in the trash. 

Blair took to deliberately using up all the hot water and leaving the bathroom like a pig sty. 

Jim retaliated by dumping wet towels on his bed so the mattress was soaked when he got home that night. 

Blair put the towels in the trash. 

Jim put all of Blair's food in the trash. 

Blair emptied the trash on the kitchen floor, salvaged what he could and left the rest there to rot. 

The trash ended up in his bed. 

And then ended up in Jim's bed. While he was on stakeout. Left to stink the loft through the first really warm night of the spring. 

Blair came home to find half his belongings packed for him. 

* * *

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" 

Jim tossed a handful of books into a carton and turned for more. He didn't bother looking up. He didn't need to see that face any more. Didn't need it at all - and certainly didn't need this chaos in his life. He needed it gone, so he could get back to where he wanted to be, back to the place where Blair Sandburg lived in some other dimension and had nothing whatsoever to do with Jim Ellison. 

Actually, truth was, he simply couldn't stand looking at that face any more. Couldn't stand the man's scent, the smell of his food, the sight of his belongings. He'd put up with so much because he'd had to - and he didn't have to any more. 

"Well?" Blair demanded from the door. 

"What's it look like?" Jim grunted, out of practice. It had been four days since the camping trip, since they'd last spoken a single word to each other. Conversation was at a premium. "I figured you needed help getting out of my loft. Make the most of it." 

"Take your hands off my things!" 

Jim cleared another shelf of books and dumped them into the carton. He reached for more, but Blair stormed across his bedroom and grabbed hold of the books. 

"Let go!" he ordered. 

Jim didn't. 

"I said, let go, damn it!" Blair hissed this, his nostrils flaring, his teeth gritted together. "This is my stuff! You have no right to touch any of it!" 

"And this is my loft and as of last Sunday, you have no right to be here," Jim hissed back, keeping hold of the books. "You're trespassing, Sandburg. Get the fuck out of my life!" 

"And you can get the fuck out of my room - and leave my fucking books alone!" Sandburg pulled with all his strength - and Jim chose that moment to let go. The younger man swayed back with the sudden release, stumbled \- and tripped over a full carton. He landed in a tangled heap on the floor, his head hitting a leg of the desk. 

"Fuck!" 

"Shit, you made me tear a page!" 

"Shit, that hurts!" 

"You're bleeding." Jim whispered. He was helping him up, reaching up and touching the cut before he could stop himself. All his anger seemed to have deserted him. He had no idea where it had gone. It just wasn't there any more. There was just him and Blair and the cut on Blair's head. 

He felt sick. 

"Ow!" 

"Keep still." Jim murmured, words coming out as soft and as gentle as his hands suddenly were. He looked through tangled hair until he could find the cut. Small but deep. It would need cleaning. "Stay here." 

He stepped around the boxes and out into the bathroom, collecting the things he needed and returning without a single thought moving in any part of his mind. He stood before Blair again, opening a bottle of antiseptic to dab some onto cotton-wool. "This is going to sting." 

"Ow!" 

"I warned you." Jim touched the wound carefully, cleaning away the blood, finding only a little more flowing afterwards. He put a fresh pad against it and pressed for a moment, hoping to stop the blood altogether. Blair stood before him saying nothing, his breathing only slightly erratic \- not enough to worry about, not enough to start thinking concussion. 

But he really wasn't saying anything and finally, Jim had no choice but to look at him. 

Deep blue eyes were regarding him with something bordering on fear. 

Jim knew that would hurt later, when he remembered - but within the numbness inside him, nothing hurt, nothing was even bruised. It was like he'd suddenly learned how to dial down his feelings along with his senses. Very strange, very odd. 

But Blair was still looking at him - and he was still looking at Blair. There didn't seem to be any need to move away right now. In fact, it was actually quite okay standing there, just looking, holding the dressing to Blair's injury, just ... waiting. Yeah, it was okay... 

Except that ... 

Except that he wanted to kiss Blair. Wanted to feel those full lips on his own again, wanted to bury his face in the long curls, wanted to hold that body close to his ... wanted to ... wanted to ... 

Wanted to ... haul him to the bed and ... 

The bed and ... 

And? 

And ... 

Blair blinked, his heartrate spiking, breath slipping out from slightly open mouth. Jim's gaze dropped to it, contemplated in hazy reality, all that it would taste like - 

And just like that, his emotions clicked back on line. He snatched in a breath, grabbed Sandburg's hand, pressed it to the cloth and left him, turning and heading out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

He went straight up to his room, throwing himself down on the bed almost as he had done with those books. 

He did feel sick. Nauseated so badly, his head throbbed. 

And damn it all to hell - he was as hard as a rock. 

* * *

By the time Blair had tidied up enough to get into bed, the aspirin had begun to work and his head almost didn't hurt any more. At least, not physically. His body weary from the day and the fight and the fall, he stripped off, climbed under the covers and switched off the lamp. 

Jim hadn't made a reappearance. Hadn't even gone to the bathroom. But the lights in the loft were off, the locks set and although it was only eleven, they had apparently shut down for the night. 

Which was a good thing, considering. Right now, Blair wasn't sure he ever wanted to see Jim again in his entire life. 

Jim had hurt him. Used his superior physical strength to hurt Blair - and that made everything else hurt all the more. 

So. 

So now he knew just how far he could push before Jim was prepared to strike back. Not that his fall could be considered in the same league as an actual blow - but it was as close as Blair ever wanted to get. He'd seen those muscles - he could make a good guess at how it would feel. Didn't want to go there. Ever. 

Was that why Jim had walked out like that? Just when it looked like they'd calmed down a little, where they might be able to talk this out? 

Or was it something else? 

He rolled over and heard a creak from upstairs as Jim shifted in his bed. He tried to picture Jim up there, fast asleep, no thread of concern bothering his dreams, no hint of guilt, of apology. Tried to see Jim as he really was - 

But he couldn't get past that first image: Jim in bed. 

Perhaps ... perhaps he should have just given Jim what he'd wanted in the first place. Perhaps he should have just thrown everything away on that one-night stand, let Jim find out what he needed to know and then just cut it clean. 

But ... he could never have done that. It was one thing to go to some place, pick up a guy and spend the night in bed - it was quite another to deliberately go to bed with your best friend, somebody you'd never thought of sexually and pretend to be interested. 

Okay, so he wouldn't have had to pretend much. Jim was a great looking guy - fantastic body, wonderful hands etc, etc. Sure, if Blair had seen him at a club, never met him before or anything, he had no doubts at all that there would indeed be some fireworks at some stage of the night. 

But Jim _wasn't_ just a body to him. Jim was a person and for all that right now, Blair really wanted to kick the man's ass all the way down to the basement, he really did love the ugly bastard. Jim was the best friend he'd ever had - regardless of how he'd behaved in the last week or so. 

So ... 

So maybe he should just go upstairs now. Maybe he should just do it. Climb into bed with Jim and see if what he'd seen in Jim's eyes tonight was real. It had certainly looked a lot like arousal. 

But what would happen if he did? One of two things: Jim would either take what was offered - and they would never speak to each other again \- or Jim would repulse him, with largely the same result. 

Friends just couldn't do this. Friends don't just sleep together because one of them is curious. Friends can't just pick up where they left off and pretend it never happened, that they never shared an intimacy that didn't belong in their friendship. Friends don't use each other's bodies like that - not if they care about each other at all. Friends always end up hating each other afterwards. 

And Blair really would feel like a two-bit whore if he did such a thing. Worse than that - for that would mean Jim would feel the same, that Jim, his best friend, the man he trusted more than his own mother - that Jim would see him as little more than a body to be fucked. No desire, no need, no nothing. 

It simply wasn't there, between them. Wasn't any basis for it in their friendship. Jim was just curious and if Blair ever touched him, it would all be over. Permanently. 

So, no going upstairs. No trying to mend the situation when everything was being bent out of shape from second to second. 

In fact, the whole situation was pretty much hopeless. Really, the only thing they had left to them was for Blair to move out. Then maybe, in a few months, when things had calmed down, they might be able to dredge up something of their friendship, perhaps make something work. 

Didn't sound like much - but it was about the only choice left. 

* * *

Jim woke with a start, eyes snapping open, wide awake instantly. Without hesitation, he opened his hearing and sought for the other heartbeat he knew should be in the loft - then checked to make sure there weren't any others. He listened for break-ins, for smoke alarms, for fire and famine - but there was nothing there. Only the same noises he always heard at ... 2.15am. 

Fuck. 

He set his muscles to relaxing again, one by one, deliberately, forcing it - and therefore, getting nowhere. 

He needed to pee. 

He tried not thinking about it, tried to go back to sleep but his bladder kept protesting with a vengeance. In the end, he just gave in and hauled himself out of bed. He went downstairs, navigated his way between the wall and the dining table without knocking anything over then opened the door. 

Blair was asleep. 

Curled up in bed. 

Lying on his side. 

Facing away from Jim. 

Jim wished he could see that face, peaceful, sleeping. In bed. He wished he could see that. 

He turned, closed the door again and headed back upstairs. Though he hadn't made it anywhere near the bathroom, his bladder didn't bother him at all now. 

* * *

Blair knelt down on the floor and reached under his bed as far as he could but still couldn't reach the sock that had somehow managed to lodge itself into the darkness. He tried to stretch out his legs and push himself further, but the packed cartons stacked up against the other wall got in his way. There was almost no space left in his room to move any more. 

He gave up. 

Standing, he brushed himself off and deliberately forced his stomach to be calm when he heard Jim's keys in the lock. He waited, listening to the door open, close, keys dropped into the basket, jacket taken off and hooked up. Fridge door opening, food being taken out, beer and chopping board landing on the bench. He took in a deep breath, calming himself a little more, then finished packing the carton he was working on. He taped the lid down, pushed it to one side with the rest, then glanced around his almost empty room. Only then did he go out into the kitchen \- or at least, as far as the kitchen island. 

Jim, as usual, ignored him - but Blair couldn't let him, not this time. 

"Just thought you'd like to know." 

"What?" A grunt, no more. Jim was rummaging around in the bottom of the fridge, looking for vegetables or something. 

"I'm moving out in two days." 

Jim froze. Slowly, he straightened up but didn't turn around. "Why two days?" 

"That's when my next grant cheque comes through. I couldn't afford the key money without it so you'll just have to put up with me until then." Blair felt like an idiot. Some stupid part of him wanted to cry, to wail, to scream at Jim to do something, to say something to take them back, put them back where they were supposed to be before sex had ever become a question and where trust and friendship were the only things they had needed to rely on. 

But at that moment, he couldn't trust himself not to cry - so he just turned and headed back into his room, closing the door behind him as softly as possible. 

Trust wasn't all it was cracked up to be. 

* * *

Little things nagged at him. Like his favourite sharp knife wasn't in the right place in the block and that there was a bottle of souring milk still in the fridge. Like the TV guide wasn't where he'd last put it and the fire wood box was almost empty. Like the wind which blew outside kept rattling the windows, as though it was trying to remind him of something. 

So many little things. All night. All through the preparation of his meal, through his eating, through cleaning up afterwards. 

He looked for the TV guide. Really looked for it. Even in his bedroom. It just wasn't there. Like it had disappeared or something. Vanished into thin air. And he really wanted to watch TV tonight. 

He plumped down on the couch, snatching up the remote, stabbing it to get a picture. He flicked from channel to channel. Colours were all wrong. Somebody must have been playing with it. 

"Sandburg?" 

"What?" 

"Have you been playing with the colours on the TV?" 

"No, why?" 

"You must have." 

"I haven't." 

"You must have," Jim repeated to himself quietly, only because he had to have the last word and he knew Sandburg would keep denying it regardless of whether it was true or not. 

So he sat there and hopped from channel to channel until at last he found something he could watch. One of those real-life police shows, where some poor schmuck in uniform was followed around by a camera crew, having to explain in words of one syllable or less why this heroin-dealing, wife-bashing, car-stealing thug really needed to be taken in for holding up a liquor store. Jeez, didn't people see enough of this in real life? Did they have to bring it into their homes as well? 

And these cops always came out looking so damned heroic. Really polite and tight-assed and licking everybody's boots and just doin' my job, ma'am. In all his years on the force, Jim couldn't remember a single uniform who'd behaved that perfectly for every minute of his working shift. For all that this was supposed to be real life - it wasn't any more real than those explosive glossy cop shows where the good guys catch the bad guys in the last seven minutes of every episode. The only way to see the real thing was to _be_ a cop. 

Sandburg emerged from his room and ventured into the kitchen. 

Or to _observe_ a cop. 

No. Sandburg had never observed him being a cop. He'd only ever observed Jim using his sentinel senses while doing his cop duty. Not the same thing at all. Jim was a sentinel and now that he'd finally gotten a hold on his senses, Sandburg was ready to walk away, move onto the next project, turn some other otherwise unsuspecting life into complete chaos. 

He changed channels. 

Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen. Chopping board and knife, banging away. Gas burning. Little things, all of them. Little nagging things. Things he hated. 

"For god's sake, keep it down will you!" 

There was a long pause of silence - and then the noise started up again. More chopping. A rattle of a knife into the basin. Water turning on. Plastic bags being rustled. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Jim launched himself off the couch and stormed into the kitchen. "What part of keep it down don't you understand, Sandburg?" 

"Hell, Jim, I'm just trying to make some dinner, here!" 

"It's after 10 - couldn't you eat earlier? I've been at work all day. I just want a little peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask?" 

Sandburg didn't even look at him. He just kept chopping. "I've been at work, too. Yes, I know, I wasn't being shot at - for a change - but I _have_ also been packing, as you well know. I won't be long. Just dial your hearing down." 

"What?" Jim took a step forward, anger really flaring now. "Is that your answer to everything? Just dial it down? Just turn it off and pretend it isn't happening? Christ, some fucking guide you turned out to be!" 

Blair whirled around at that, "I'm the best fucking guide you could have had - and don't you forget it! If it wasn't for me, you'd be locked in an asylum by now and you know it!" 

"Maybe - but at least I'd get some peace and quiet!" 

Sandburg spread his arms wide, "What do you want from me, Jim? Should I just wink out of existence for you? I told you I'd be gone in two days. I know that's not quick enough for you, but hell, that's as quick as I can manage. Now just get out of my space and let me finish." With that, he turned and began chopping again. 

Jim snatched the knife out of his hands. 

Blair looked up at him in horror, taking two steps back very quickly, raising his hands. 

That defensive gesture sent a bolt of white hot fury through Jim. Without even thinking, he raised the knife and sank the point deep into the chopping board. Blair flinched and stepped back even further, moving around the island as though he would run to his room. 

Jim advanced, feeling that fury almost leak from him now. It boiled and bubbled through him, turning his stomach into a cauldron, seething hatred. He came to a tidy halt by the fridge, making sure Sandburg wouldn't back away further. 

"And how long," he said quietly, menacingly, "is it going to be before you think it's okay to start telling people you used to work alongside a real, live sentinel?" 

Blair's eyes opened wide in shock. So did his mouth. For a second, he said nothing. But then he did. " _What?_ You honestly think I'd ever tell anybody about you?" 

"Yeah. To impress some guy you wanted to fuck. Or some girl. Or some university. Or some newspaper. Should think it would be worth quite a bit." He didn't need to hold a blade in his hand in order to sink the knife in deep. Bitterness tasted so sweet. 

"I don't fucking believe you, man!" Blair took a stubborn step forward, his own anger now ducking and weaving through the air, fighting with Jim's. "When have I ever given you a reason to think you couldn't trust me? Eh? When?" 

Jim smiled, grim, letting the blood in his body burn, letting it rule him, "You moved into my place without mentioning your sexuality. Waited a good three years before you said anything." 

"I..." 

"And then I had no choice about it, did I? If I'd said a word, you would have labelled me homophobic and that would have been it, wouldn't it?" 

"That has nothing to do with trust!" 

"Doesn't it?" 

"No!" Blair took another step forward, his hand coming out to point at Jim's chest. "That was personal, private and none of your business. Your abilities are a different matter altogether..." 

"And they're not private? Not personal? Less personal than who _you_ sleep with? Don't they contribute to who I am as much as your sexuality does to you? Or doesn't _my_ personal life count here, only yours, eh?" 

"You bastard! How dare you! You know I would never say anything to anybody about your abilities! How can you think I'd just betray you like that?" Blair hauled in a breath, "And you're a fine one to be lecturing me on trust, man!" 

"Oh, I knew we'd come back to that!" Jim snapped, his voice rising, letting the anger run free now, letting it drive him forward, letting him _be_ free. "I knew it. Just waiting for the right moment, weren't you? Well, go on, have your say. It never bothered you before. Never bothered you to say whatever you liked to me. Never thought once about whether I _wanted_ to know if you were sleeping with a guy, never thought for one second that I might mind, never thought for one second..." 

"That you might want to sleep with me instead?" Blair bellowed back. 

"I _don't_ want to sleep with you!" Jim drowned that bellow with his own. 

Blair stood there, staring at him, chest moving with harsh air gasped in and out, matched by Jim's, tandem, forced, uncompromising ... 

Stubborn. 

And suddenly he had his hands all over Blair, Blair's hands all over him and their mouths were crushed together, hard, violent, bloodthirsty and ravenous. Their bodies driven together, crashing, tipping and stumbling, staggering back against the wall, hitting it, turning, Jim turning Blair so he was pushed back against it, pinned there. And still their hands moved as shirts were stripped away, torn fabric and buttons ignored as they flew in all directions. Jim tasted blood in his mouth but he didn't know, didn't care whose it was. Didn't care. Didn't care at all. He just had to have that mouth - and that mouth had to have him. 

And it did. And his jaw, throat, shoulder, biting, leaving marks, hurting, arousing. Harsh thumbs pressed against his nipples and he shuddered, thrusting his hips against Blair's, searching for the hardness he found, his hands gripping hard, moving down, leaving bruises, pulling the man closer, this man, the only man, Blair, pulling him closer, taking what he should have taken a long time ago if only he'd known, if only he'd understood. But he was taking it now, yes, he was taking it now because it belonged to him, damnit, belonged to him, not to anybody else, Blair belonged to him, this body, this soul, this skin and flesh and bone ... oh god... 

Blair pushed him to the floor, and still the pace flew, hands flying, tangling in zippers and button and pushing clothing out of the way until they could touch skin and more skin and hard skin and still it went on, gasping, pushing and sliding and wanting this, wanting this so much, needing it, needing this connection to live and breathe and make and live a life of its own and it was there, between them, between their heaving bodies as Blair pushed him down, crushed him beneath his weight, their cocks sliding together, riding each other, pressing closer, needing to be closer, to be inside each other, to be one. 

That mouth was too close again and Jim took it, plunging in deep, sucking hard, thrusting up to meet whatever Blair could give him because it was so good, so very good to be doing this, to be needing it and wanting it and knowing Blair needed and wanted it as well and there were words he needed to say but it was too late or too early and he had nothing to think with, no breath to speak with, nothing to work with but the urgent necessity of impending completion, of being there, with Blair at the end, of making it the end and making it with Blair, Blair of all people, the only one he could come close to revealing this to and survive ... 

"Jim ..." Blair gasped into his mouth. 

Just a word - but it was more than he could bear. With a cry urged from his belly, he grabbed Blair to him and climaxed, white hot blindness exploding in his head, leaving nothing in its wake but the feeling of Blair's completion matching his own, seed for seed, need for need. It went on and on and on and only stopped when there was nothing left, no sense, no air, no Jim and no Blair. 

* * *

Cascade at night. 

It was dark. And whole. A living, breathing entity, swallowing him up. Streets on which to place his feet, sounds to guide his path, shadows to hide in. 

Blair walked, mindlessly, endlessly, willingly into the night. Mile after mile, his feet took him further and further away, but never far enough because he was taking it with him, taking the hurt and the pain and the disappointment and the dislike and the shame with him as though he'd folded them all into his backpack and strung it on his shoulders. The weight dragged him down, mile after mile, endlessly, mindlessly. 

Humans were fragile things, perched on the edge of mortality like an egg balancing atop a blade. One puff of air and it would fall. The human body wasn't meant for hard treatment, too many soft tissues and brittle bones and organs not designed to regenerate. Nobody took it seriously though, not until those bones had broken and those organs had withered. Nobody realized the threat that stood over them until it was too late \- and then, it really was too late because by then, nothing could be done about it. Not even to the point of understanding it - for what was the point of understanding death when your last breath has just been drawn by dying lungs? 

But then, there was always the assumption that something _could_ be done about it - that, if a man took care of himself, he could live forever. 

Who the fuck would want to? 

Humans were fragile, living in a fragile world which had the power to crush them at any second - but the human soul was ten times more fragile. When it took a bullet or a knife to end a life - it took but a single word to destroy a person, to end faith, to shatter belief. Just a word. 

Sometimes as little as a look. 

And yet, the human soul was much vaunted for its power, it's ability to love and bear up under the most punishing of circumstances, where the body had withered and faded but the soul had struggled on, never giving up, never losing faith. 

But even so, such strength could be blown out like a flickering candle if the wrong word was spoken - or not spoken. If the wrong deed was done, if some thing had been left out, if some promise had been broken. 

Wind dashed across a dawning sky, whipping clouds to tumble and crash against each other; a heavenly argument that would bring rain later, like tears, to fall down about a city too used to such displays of empty passion. 

He felt cold. And tired. 

And dirty. 

And hated every bit of it. Hated that he was here, walking the streets, tired and cold and dirty. Hated that he'd left Jim, thrown on clothes and walked out before the man had even stirred from the effects of... 

He stumbled. He pulled up, hands going to his stomach, hauling in breaths as though each one would be his last. But it was too late. Too late to understand mortality when the chance to do something, to change something was already in the past. Too late to take the broken promise back, too late to pretend that it didn't even matter. 

He doubled over and threw up in the gutter. His body racked with each shuddering heave, empty and unforgiving. He kept going until there was nothing left. 

And there was nothing left. Not even the pain of betrayal. 

* * *

Jim woke. 

And moved, swiftly, his arms encompassing ... 

Nothing. 

"Blair?" 

Nothing. 

He lay on his side, on the floor, the remnants of his clothing scattered around him, the remnants of their sex cooling on his stomach. 

"Blair?" 

His arms ached. Empty. The floor was hard and cold. He sat up, stood and pulled his jeans on, using his t-shirt to clean up. 

Blair was not in the loft. 

His jacket was not on the hook. His keys not in the basket. 

Jim walked to the balcony, opened the doors and stepped out. The chill wind seared across his bare chest, icing his knuckles as he gripped the rail. He opened up his hearing, dialling it to the edge. Nothing. No trace. 

Gone. 

"No..." Jim whispered, breathing into the wind. "No, Chief, don't go..." 

* * *

Jim woke. His back ached, neck felt like rubber, mouth like sand. He turned his head on the couch, stared at the door. It remained closed and locked. 

He got up. He walked to the bedroom and looked in. All but a few clothes were packed, all but the necessities taken care of. The room was empty. No Blair. 

He stumbled into the bathroom and peed. He made it to the kitchen and downed a glass of water. He returned to the living room, sank back onto the couch and pulled the phone close, just in case. 

He lay staring at the roof beams for a long, long time. 

* * *

Jim woke to the phone ringing, loud in his dialled-up ears. He slapped his hands over them, wincing, quickly adjusting, rough and ragged. He grabbed the phone, "Blair?" 

"No, it's me! Remember me? Your boss?" 

Shaking his head, Jim sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry, Simon, what is it?" 

"About 9.36." 

Jim froze. Shit. He was deep in it. That didn't stop him getting up and going to the door of the bedroom again, his body protesting every move as though he'd spent the entire night on a rack - which, of course, was exactly what he'd done. 

"Jim!" 

"Yeah?" He frowned, wondering where Blair's address book was and how likely it would be to find him at Rainier. "Look, Captain, I'm sorry, I'm not well. I won't be in today." 

"What?" 

"I have to go." 

"Jim! Stop right there and tell me what the hell is going on! You've never taken a sick day in your life." 

"Okay, okay." Jim leaned against the door, eyes flicking over every scarred surface within that too empty room. "Blair's missing." 

"Since when?" 

"Last night." 

"Christ, Jim, he could be anywhere in some girl's bed. What do you mean, he's missing?" 

"We had a fight and he walked out and ..." A fight? Was that ... sex on the floor a fight? 

Yeah. A big fight. 

"Come on, Jim, tell me what happened." 

"No. I can't... I ... look, Simon, I don't care what you put it down to, okay? I just have to go. I have to find him and look, Simon, just ... just..." Jim punched a finger into the phone and severed the connection. His legs gave up then and he slid down the door until his ass connected with the wooden floor. Hard and cold, just like last night after they'd... 

Had sex. 

He'd thought he'd wanted it. But he hadn't. That thing last night had been ugly and he'd wanted beauty. 

The phone rang again and he snatched it up. "Blair?" 

"No... er... sorry. I'm a friend of Blair's." 

The voice was familiar but Jim couldn't pinpoint it. "He's not here." 

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm calling. He's here. He wanted me to let you know he was okay... well, that he was alive and everything. He's ... er... staying with me for the next couple of days and he just wanted to make sure you didn't put out a missing persons bulletin for him or something." 

"I want to talk to him." 

"He doesn't want to come to the phone." 

"Please, just put him on. I have to talk to him." 

"He... doesn't want to talk to you." 

"Where are you?" 

"I can't tell you that. Please... Jim ... just do as he asks? He's had enough. Just let him be for a while, okay?" 

Jim closed his eyes. "Yeah, okay, okay. Just tell him... tell him that I ..." He swallowed, unable to say the words to a complete stranger. Unable to say them to himself. Empty, meaningless words. "Just look after him, okay?" 

"I will." 

He dropped the phone and sat there, breathing in the musk of their bodies together on the floor, breathing in the pain they'd inflicted upon each other, the struggle for power, all in the name of desperation. He'd called it need. How wrong he'd been. 

* * *

There were children playing out in the vacant lot across the road. A boy and a girl, aged about nine or so. Playing with a tennis ball. Back and forth. The girl got the ball, bounced it against the wall and tried to catch it. The boy would run across and steal it, making the girl chase him until she got it back. Then she would bounce it again and the same thing would happen. 

Eventually, blows were exchanged. 

Blair could hear the cries of outrage from his window seat. They leaned against him, like recriminations of sins past. Each one a penance for what he'd done, what he hadn't done and the places he should never have gone. 

There were great tomes written about the power of sex. Great minds delving into the subtleties of the human psyche and how it developed, the angles it took, the furtive means by which it achieved its needs. 

Even if those needs were never acknowledged. 

"Come on, Blair, you really need to eat something." 

"I'm not hungry." He pulled his feet up onto the window seat and hugged his knees. Patrick sat beside him, reaching out to rub his hand, the flesh dry and warm. 

"I'll bet if you tried to eat, you'd feel hungry. Your stomach's empty right now. You need to put some energy into your body if you want to be able to live through this." 

Blair turned his gaze from the children to his old friend. Patrick could almost have been a version of Blair but thirty years on, long white locks, dove grey eyes and wrinkles brought about from smiling. His home was ample, as was its owner, filled with treasures from strange little places nobody had ever heard of - but all practical. There was hardly a single decorative item in the entire place - though it was packed from floor to ceiling, in every room. 

"I've got some chocolate cake in the fridge," Patrick offered, raising his eyebrows a little. "The sugar will go down easier than anything else." 

More to make his friend happy than from any real desire for food, Blair nodded, "Thanks." 

Patrick went out and brought him back a plate of chocolate cake, complete with cream and strawberries. A very large piece. He handed it to Blair then resumed his seat, raising a hand to draw back the lace curtains a little, taking a glimpse of the sunny street. 

"If you stay here long enough, he'll find you, you know? I'm surprised he didn't recognize my voice." 

"I don't plan to stay here that long. Just until tomorrow. Then I can get my stuff and move into my apartment." 

Patrick sighed and dropped the curtain - then watched Blair until he started eating the cake. "Do you think Marie Antionette had double choc fudge in mind when she made that ridiculous comment? I doubt she would have been happy sharing it. I'm not sure I am." 

Something in Blair's face smiled a little. The cake was actually good and it didn't make him feel sick. 

"Have you seen Nick lately?" 

Blair shook his head sharply, keeping his attention on the cake. "Nope. Wouldn't want to. I think if I saw that smug look on his face again, I'd probably commit murder. I have to wonder why I didn't see it in him before." 

"What? That he was dating this other guy?" 

"No. His capacity for enjoying the hurt in other people." 

"Oh, Blair, you don't know he enjoyed it. He could have been putting on a front, in order to get rid of you quicker, to reduce the pain rather than increase it." 

Finishing the cake, Blair put the plate on the floor and returned to hugging his knees. "You only met Nick a couple of times, didn't you?" 

"You two came around for dinner once, for one of my debate nights. It was quite a good one as I recall." Patrick folded his arms and leaned back a little, thin lips pursed in contemplation. "Though I did get the distinct impression Nick felt somewhat out of his depth. I was never too sure about inviting him again. I don't think he liked being surrounded by so many academics in one go." 

"You think he was intimidated?" 

Patrick gave him half a smile, "Well, there were five doctors and two MAs on their way to becoming doctors at the table that night. I should think it would take a very gutsy man _not_ to feel a little intimidated." 

Jim hadn't been intimidated. Not once. 

Not up to defending Nick in the slightest, Blair asked, "Did you like him?" 

"Not particularly." 

"Why not?" 

Patrick shrugged, "It's far easier to explain why somebody likes a person rather than why they don't." 

"You're evading the question." 

"True." 

"Don't." 

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm not sure of anything right now." 

"But you do want to know?" 

"Yes." 

"I didn't trust him." 

Blair frowned, released his legs and crossed them. "How do you mean? We'd had lunch, what a week or so before that dinner? And then there was that night. So how could you decide you didn't trust him in that short space of time?" 

Patrick took in a deep breath and collected his cold coffee from the small table beside him. He took a mouthful and swallowed slowly. "You know the basic rules on the qualification of knowledge, right?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, intuitive knowledge is supposed to comprise of elements the subconscious absorbs and processes. That knowledge remains dormant until moments when the conscious mind requires direct access - like when somebody asks if you trust them. Such an answer rarely requires much thought - because the conclusion has already been arrived at within the subconscious mind. For some people, that conclusion requires very little informational input. For others, it requires a lot. With me? Well, I knew by the end of that lunch that I didn't trust him. The dinner only confirmed it for me." 

"But why?" 

"The subconscious, laddie, doesn't give out explanations in words. That's why it's considered to be intuitive knowledge." Patrick smiled, "You know that as well as I do." 

"Okay, but that doesn't mean you didn't think about it. Come to some _conscious_ conclusions." 

"True." Patrick got off his seat and began drifting around the room, collecting together magazines and journals, piling them on top of others stacked around the living room. "And if I tell you I thought he'd cheat on you at some point, or that I thought he was lying to you about a lot of things in his past, that he didn't seem to care for you anywhere near as much as you cared for him - would you believe it's not a case of being wildly wise after the fact?" 

"Yes." 

"Why? 

"I trust you." 

"Exactly. And why do you trust me?" 

Blair turned, watching the other man. "Because I know you." 

"No, you only know the man you've met in past circumstances. You know one law of Aristotelian logic is that no former pattern of events is proof of future events. Just because the sun has always risen in the morning, doesn't _prove_ it will rise tomorrow. The prior pattern only give us a reasonable basis to _believe_ it might." 

"So, you're saying I can't trust anybody?" 

Patrick threw him a dry glance, "Don't be deliberately obtuse, my dear. You'll only end up sounding like one of my students." 

Blair shrugged, "Then what you are saying is that just because in the past I might have trusted you, I have no guarantee you will prove trustworthy in the future." 

"There is no way you can connect the words 'trust' and 'guarantee' in the same sentence. They are, by definition, mutually exclusive. To trust requires some degree of chance. It's always a gamble - especially so with a lover. The stakes are much higher - intimacy is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands." 

As Patrick finished his vague tidying, Blair turned back to the window. "And what about trusting yourself?" 

"Why, that's the biggest gamble of all." 

Blair snorted bitterly, "Do you always broach the interior human subject with such calm and logic? How can you apply Aristotle to human emotion?" 

Patrick returned, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I didn't say it was a valid application." 

"I'm not any less confused." 

"Why do you think you should be?" 

"Because I have to understand!" Blair sprang out of his seat and was half-way across the room before he put up his hands in apology. "Look, being calm about this hasn't made any difference, you know? I can chase it around in clear lines of explanation until I die of old age - but in the end, the facts remain the same." 

"Do they?" Folding his hands together, Patrick regarded him with the same patience he regarded his entire world. "Your boyfriend dumped you for another man. Your straight best friend kisses you. You argue and have something akin to sex on the kitchen floor. You run. Have I got this right so far?" 

"Damn it, Patrick! This isn't funny!" 

"Am I laughing? You fight with your best friend and find out that he kissed you, that he thought he liked it - suggesting he was starting to question his sexuality. You slam the door on him. Have the facts changed?" 

"I don't know why I bother!" 

"And then, out of the blue, in the middle of a great shouting match that would have entertained the neighbours down the street, you suddenly grab each other and don't stop until it's way too late, expunging something of the tension in the air at the same time, while perhaps creating a whole new set of tensions you don't seem to want to consider." 

Blair stood there, his hands on his hips, waiting. "Like what? Like maybe I'd been wanting him subconsciously for a long time? And last night I just let go? Well, I've been over that and it's just not true. I have _never_ thought of Jim like that. Never. I never wanted that kind of relationship with him. It would have been far too complicated. Christ, it's complicated enough as it is. And what's more, I don't think he's ever really wanted me like that, either." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Of what?" 

"That you didn't want him?" 

"Yes, I'm sure. I promise you, I never gave it a thought." 

"So, it was just... biology?" 

"God, Patrick, what kind of crap is that?" 

With a soft laugh, Patrick sent his gaze roving about the room in a gesture of feigned innocence, "Well, the kind of crap you, yourself have been studying for the last ten years or so. Simple human interaction. Two strong males drawing territorial lines. In the modern society, two men who refuse to use violence as a means to an end. Instead, you had sex. Ultimately, I suspect you both would have been better off if you'd gone via the black-eye route. Less angst in the long run." 

Blair sighed, "I hate philosophers, you know that?" 

Patrick smiled and headed into the kitchen. "Of course. That's one of the things I like most about you. Now come and peel some potatoes." 

Continued in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## The Good Friend

by Jack Reuben Darcy

* * *

The Good Friend - Part three   
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

Jim waited until it was dark before he called Simon. Waited until he was fairly sure Blair wasn't going to make any kind of appearance. So he sat on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, dialled the number and kept his gaze on the television news, the flashing pictures helping him to keep focussed. 

"Jim? Why haven't you called? I've left messages all day. Where have you been?" 

"Here. I just didn't want to talk." 

"Are you going to tell me what's going on? Has Blair turned up?" 

"I've heard from him so I suppose he's okay." 

"And that's it?" 

"No. Look, I'd like a leave of absence." 

There was a long silence during which he could hear Simon get up and close his office door. "What's this about, Jim?" 

"Nothing I can really talk about at the moment, Captain. I just need some time off. I want to go away for a while, sort some things out." 

"Anything I can help with?" 

"No. I've just ... made a lot of mistakes and ... assumptions and I just..." What? Need to eradicate them from my life? Plunge into them and explore wholeheartedly? Need to learn to live as a sentinel without a guide? "I need the time off, Simon." 

"How long?" 

"I don't know. Maybe a couple of months. Maybe longer." 

How long did it take to learn to be alone? Again. What kind of process did a sentinel go through when the only thing he was allowed to care for was a generalised mass city tribe - with no specific individuals involved? 

But taking care of Blair, of needing to - had brought him to this place of destruction. There had to be a way forward. Only this time, he had to find it himself. Alone. 

"Okay, Jim." Simon's voice came to him, low, a little sad and resigned. "I'll stop by tomorrow with the paperwork. Try to get some rest, okay?" 

"Thanks." 

* * *

The clock in the hall downstairs kept Blair awake. Every fifteen minutes, when his body was ready to sink into sleep, three bells would chime and startle him awake again. And Patrick - Patrick would move around in his study, making the wooden floors of this ancient house creak and groan. Little, tiny sounds, all of them unique and different from the sounds he was used to - the loft and yes, even Nick's place. 

At least he'd answered one question: he'd never loved Nick. If he had, that pain of losing him wouldn't have been so easily swept away by the events of last night. And the horrible, bitter truth was - Jim was far more important to him than Nick would ever have been. Betrayal or no, he was better out of that relationship than in. 

Didn't make it feel any better, though. Didn't make him feel like himself, like the Blair he'd always known and loved. He didn't even know where that person was any more. It was as though his own soul had been abruptly displaced, cast adrift and he was left with this dry, angry, loveless thing he couldn't possibly care for. 

Had he seen those things in Nick? The bits he couldn't trust? Or had he blinded himself? Just as he'd been blinded to trusting himself to not touch Jim. 

Why the fuck couldn't he see? Why was this darkness in his head as well? 

He rolled over, punching the pillows again, trying to settle in one position that would let him sleep, one place that would give him release. 

Hard to think that just a few weeks ago, he'd been happy. Going out with Nick, looking forward to their relationship growing stronger, working alongside Jim, enjoying that friendship like no other. Now he'd lost both of them. 

Or had he really lost Jim before that? When had they started to drift apart? Would it have been some time around when he'd come out to Jim? Jim thought Nick was his first - but they'd never really talked about it so the rest of his past had never emerged into conversation. He could hardly say he'd been casually dating guys since high school. That kind of thing was impossible to slip in between dinner and a game on TV. 

So was that it? Had Jim maybe withdrawn from him a little, perhaps feeling somewhat threatened? 

If so, then that made the kiss nonsensical. 

No - the whole thing made no sense. From beginning to end. From that first moment right up until last night when he'd ... when he'd just grabbed at Jim and had been grabbed back. 

He'd been on fire. His thoughts diluted with pure sensation. He'd needed that touch like no other in his entire life - and he'd taken it, unmindful of the consequences, his promises, his vows to himself. 

Was Patrick right? Had it just been biology? 

So ... why did his skin crawl every time he thought about it? Why did he feel a flush of shame strike his face? Why did he want to go back to that moment and stop it? 

But he couldn't. Such miracles were beyond his ability. Much better that he start to gather his data together and consider finishing his dissertation without any further additions. Better that he move out of the loft and leave that life with Jim behind. Jim didn't need him any more. It was time. Better that he accept that and move on, that he rebuild his life around fewer promises and less trust. 

Trouble was, he'd got used to being needed. Had learned to like it - to need it in return. 

To need the friendship. 

But Patrick was right. He couldn't trust anyone. Most of all, he couldn't trust himself. 

* * *

Jim rose early, showered, had breakfast - and then spent the next four hours cleaning the loft. He paid particular attention to the floor by the kitchen island. He'd lived with their scents for a whole day, willing the constant reminder to deliver whatever retribution it could. But now it was time to get rid of it. The memory would live on, long after the physical evidence had vanished. 

When he was done, he pulled a beer out of the fridge, took a long mouthful and opened all the windows to let the warm spring air in, to wash the place clean in a way he knew Naomi would appreciate. Then, when he was done, he turned into Blair's room and began to open the cartons, one by one. 

With hands careful of what he held, he placed books back on the shelves, masks back on the walls, clothes back in drawers and closet. Each he placed with deliberate memory, scoring back over time to where he had seen it last, before the madness had set in. As each box was emptied, he flattened it out and stacked it under the stairs. He would take them down to the basement when he could afford to leave the loft - and not before. 

He was waiting. 

And he would wait as long as it took. Blair had to come back sometime. Had to come back and collect his things so he could move into his new place. So Jim would stay in the loft until that moment - if it took hours or days. He no longer cared. There were things he needed to say, things he had to put right, mistakes he had to beg forgiveness for - and he would do it if it killed him. 

In the end, he wasn't the friend he wanted to be. Not according to the rules. Instead, he could only be the friend he was, the friend who owed too much to this man to treat him so badly. 

Most likely, Blair would just pack his stuff up again and leave, regardless of anything Jim could say. But he wanted, no needed, to make Blair believe he had changed, that things had changed and that, above all else, Blair could trust him, just like he always had. 

They both needed to know. Even if it really was all over. 

When he was done, when it was all unpacked, Jim set about putting food together for a meal. It was still early, but if Blair was going to come, he would do it now, when he could safely assume Jim would be at work. 

The stew was on the stove when he heard footsteps approach the door. Slowly. 

He must have seen the truck parked downstairs. 

Jim moved. He made for the door and pulled it open. Blair stood there, key in hand, making a point of not looking at him. 

"Come in." Stepping back, Jim made room and waited. Blair straightened up, stepped inside and closed the door, holding out the key for Jim to take. 

"Just in case I forget later." 

Jim took it. It was easier than starting off with an argument. He returned to his stove, stirring the pot for a moment, giving himself a second to gather his words, his thoughts, whatever he needed. 

"We need to talk." 

Blair had come around the island and placed his hands on it. Only then did he look up. 

Something sharp and terrible struck through Jim then. He blinked, took two steps around the island and folded the man in his arms. He wasted no breath on words - just held the small, tense body against him. He'd not planned this - but he couldn't bring himself to let go until he was sure Blair understood. 

And slowly, he seemed to. Slowly his arms came up until they were holding Jim. It was a hug of mutual comfort, of mutual distress and neither felt safe letting go. 

"I was worried," Jim said eventually. 

"Yeah," Blair replied. "Me too." 

"You're okay?" 

"Yeah. You?" 

"Fine." 

"Good." 

"Yeah." 

And it was time to let go. Jim felt the wrench and stifled an involuntary gasp. Stepping back, he gestured to Blair's room - but no words came to him. There was just the gesture and his own helplessness to stop what he now knew would happen. 

Blair wandered slowly to the door and looked inside. He was silent a moment. Then he shook his head, "I can't, Jim. I'm sorry." 

"Can't? Or won't?" 

"Do we have to fight again?" 

"Are we going to agree on anything?" 

"Have your say, Jim. Go ahead, I won't stop you." 

Jim stayed where he was. It was safer that way. "A part of me wants you to go." 

"Which part?" Blair turned and faced him. 

"The friend - what's left of him." 

The hurt on Blair's face was unmistakable. "I see. And what about the rest of you?" 

"We should try and fix this. Make it better. Go back to being the friends we were before." 

"Which is stronger?" 

Jim could only shrug. He didn't know - and that was the problem. "You need a life of your own, Chief. One that doesn't have you following around after me. I can't give you what you need." 

Blair blinked and took a single step forward. "And that's it?" 

"That's... really the gist of what I wanted to say, yeah." 

"There's nothing... more?" 

Without even asking, Jim knew what that question was. It reeked of something he could never reveal now, requiring an intimacy he was incapable of giving. He'd known that before all this started, known he could never do this, never give anyone what was required to make any relationship work. The question sat in the air between them, a battle line drawn, waiting for the first combatant to step over it. 

Jim declined the honour. "We've gone past that - and you know it. It's too late." 

Blair shook his head, "Do you know you've never once asked me what I was going to do when I finished my dissertation? Things like where I would go, what I would do next." 

"Why would I need to? I know you'll leave. You have to. That's what anthropologists do." 

"Jim, you don't know anything about me." Blair came forward another step, his voice hard and uncompromising. "You never asked. Not once. Never asked if I minded if you kissed me. Never asked if you could. Never asked if I was interested. Never asked what I wanted from my life. You think you know me but I've just become a piece of furniture in your life and now I don't fit any more, do I?" 

"Are you telling me you want to stay? Is that it?" 

"Damn it, Jim," Blair snapped, "This isn't about me staying or leaving! This is about us - you and me. About us being friends, people who are supposed to care for each other, to look out for each other. For god's sake, Jim, you accused me of being willing to tell everyone about your abilities! I thought ... I thought you'd ... _know_ I could never do something like that. I thought you knew me - but you don't. Or did you just say that to hurt me - 'cause if you did, then I don't really know you, do I?" 

Jim stood and stared at the man, met that blue gaze with his own, idly noting the checked shirt, the jeans, the hair, hands and feet - all things he'd had in his life for so long, things he was used to, things he'd wanted... 

Things he loved. 

"I guess," he murmured after a moment, "that we were both wrong, weren't we?" 

Why? Why couldn't he make this right? Why weren't there words to bring it back home? Because it was wrong? Because it was time, that it really was over? 

Too much over before it had really begun... 

It had never happened. None of it. 

"Yeah," Blair breathed, "I guess we were." Blair tore his gaze away, glancing around the loft. 

"Under the stairs." 

Blair nodded and collected an arm full of boxes. He disappeared into his room and Jim pressed his forehead against the wall. There had to be something he could do ... 

To achieve what? 

To make him stay? 

To make him... what? 

Love? 

Was that what he wanted? Was that what Blair wanted? 

But did he really feel this or was it just this pain inside beating against him. It was too difficult to tell, to make sure and there was no way he could say until he was sure - and by then, it would be too late. 

It was already too late. 

A knock at the door made him move. Probably Simon with his leave forms. He strode across, pulling the door open to find the tall man standing there, usual grim features, cigar in hand. 

"Jim." 

"Come in, Simon." 

"How's things?" 

"Okay, I guess." 

Simon stood in the centre of the living room, glancing about. "Is Sandburg here?" 

"Yeah. He's ... packing." 

"Packing?" 

"That's right." 

Not looking at him, Simon nodded towards the closed doors. "I need to talk to him. Can you ask him to come out?" 

"Sure." Shaking his head, Jim opened Blair's door. "Chief? Simon wants to see you." 

Blair looked up, frowned and nodded. He followed Jim out into the living room. "What's up?" 

Simon pursed his lips together, gazed steadily at Blair for a moment before glancing at Jim. "Is this the reason, Jim?" 

"No." 

"Then what?" 

"Can we talk about it later?" 

"We might not get a chance later." 

"Well, I really don't want to talk about it now." 

"Talk about what?" Blair raised his hands. "Guys, I'm standing right here." 

"It doesn't matter," Jim began but Simon wouldn't let him continue. 

"Actually, it does matter. A great deal." He paused again and said, "Sandburg, do you know a man by the name of Nicholas Lansdowne?" 

Jim's gaze darted to Blair, catching the brief flash of alarm, the quick intake of breath. "Yes. Why?" 

Simon frowned, glanced down at his feet then back up at Blair. "I'm sorry, but his body was found this morning." 

* * *

For a moment, Blair froze completely. Then he blinked once, "How ... what..." 

"He was murdered. In his home. His work colleagues were concerned when he didn't show up this morning. Apparently he's been missing for some days. We sent a uniform car around and they found his body in the hall." 

"Oh ... god ..." Blair swallowed then suddenly looked green. He began to waver on his feet and reached out to Jim for support. 

Instantly, Jim was there, an arm around his waist, steering him to the couch. "It's okay, Chief, just sit." 

"Oh, god... But he... he..." Blair swallowed again, blinking rapidly, trying to absorb this and failing. "Murdered? Do we know who?" 

"We don't have any suspects in custody, no." 

Blair had already forgotten the last question. "How ... I don't understand this ... I mean... " He was breathing too rapidly, was starting to hyperventilate. 

"Take it easy, Chief. One breath at a time. That's it." He held Blair's hand in his own, his fingers almost crushed by the grip. 

"Sandburg," Simon said quietly, "I have to ask you to come down to the station." 

"What?" Jim would have sprung to his feet if Blair hadn't been holding onto him so hard. "Is he a suspect?" 

"Not at this time, no. But his fingerprints have been found inside Mr Lansdowne's house. You know the procedure. Once we get autopsy results, we'll have a cause of death and hopefully, a murder weapon. Come on, Jim, you know I have to do this." 

"But, Simon, you don't understand... Blair has just... I mean..." 

"It's okay, Jim," Blair was turning his face around to look at him, forcing his attention to focus. Blair gathered himself quickly and harshly. His skin was white, his eyes huge and there was such a vein of fear running through him, Jim thought he would be sick. "Please, Jim, it's okay. I'll go." 

"You're not under arrest, Chief, is he, Simon?" 

"No. I thought it was best this way." 

"You mean he _could_ be arrested? You don't even have a cause of death yet. God, Simon, you know he didn't do this!" 

"Jim," Blair urged again, tugging on his hand. "Please, don't do this, okay?" 

And Jim had to meet that gaze because it beckoned him, it belonged to him and he loved it, loved this man with all his heart. Always had. It had just taken too long to work it out. And now he couldn't ever say it out loud, couldn't ever find the words to make it right, couldn't take them from this place to the one where they could be together. 

Because although Blair loved him, he would only ever be a friend. 

For the moment however, for _this_ moment, that was all that mattered. "Okay, Chief. I'll go with you." 

"No." Blair gripped his hands hard, a silent warning that he say nothing else. Then he turned to Simon. "Captain? Would you trust me enough to give me one minute alone with Jim? He can tell you afterwards what I say. Would you trust us both that much? Please?" 

Simon stuck his cigar in his mouth, "Christ, what a thing to ask me! Okay, damnit! But you have exactly one minute - and I'll be waiting outside. If you try anything..." 

But he was friend enough to leave that threat unspoken. Instead, he went out the door and closed it behind him. 

"He's waiting on the other side of the door, Chief." 

"I know." Blair let go and got to his feet. "Come with me, quickly." 

He dashed into his bedroom and Jim followed. He stopped before his desk, rummaging through the shelf above until he found what he was looking for. He gestured at a row of notebooks, "Jim, the moment I'm out of here, you have to collect together all my notes about you and burn them. Everything, do you understand? My laptop is in my backpack - there, by the bed. Open all the files marked dissertation and delete everything in them. All of them. Delete the entire directory. In fact, it might just be easier if you wipe the hard drive. Yeah, that's the best idea. None of the notes in my office have your name in them. There's just these journals and the dissertation - and I don't have any printed copies at the moment. I normally shred them the moment I'm finished with them. Can you do that, Jim? Please?" 

"Chief," Jim caught one wildly moving hand and forced Blair to look at him. "I can't destroy all your work like that!" 

"You _have_ to! Come on, Jim, you're a cop! My fingerprints are all over Nick's place ... I... " He swallowed, getting over that part with sheer determination. "If they find any evidence to suggest I had anything to do with it, they'll get a search warrant and the first thing they'll find is all this stuff about you. Now I know you can do this because none of this has anything to do with Nick. There's no evidence of anything here except your heightened senses. I don't even mind if you tell Simon you destroyed my notes afterwards, just do it, please, Jim! Promise me!" 

Jim could hardly move, speak or even breathe. He could only look - and nod. The relief on Blair's face only cut into him more. 

"Sandburg?" 

"Coming, Simon!" Blair stayed a moment longer, gave Jim a small smile and said, "Promise, me, Jim. Please." 

It hurt, but he had no choice but to agree, "Promise. I'll come down to the station as soon as I'm finished." 

"Sandburg!" 

"Gotta go." Blair fled, grabbing his jacket and disappearing out the door before Jim could say or do anything more. 

* * *

Simon had had a lot of practice over the years, trying not to look at people. As a cop, it made sense to be able to observe without being obvious, to keep the eyes away when they could be noticed, to keep the gaze down so as not to issue an unspoken challenge. All good skills, all necessary. Not one single one of them worked on the drive to the station. 

Sandburg sat beside him - and if body-language had much to say, then the young man was an essay in fifty words or less. Afraid, worried, nervous, holding onto control with desperation, alone. 

He had his elbow on the door, his chin in his hand, pretending, like Simon wouldn't know otherwise, that he was relaxed about this, that he had a pure clean conscience. 

Why did he think Simon would doubt him? 

Was there reason to doubt? 

A man was innocent until proven guilty. That's what the law said - but if the police force ever actually employed that principal, they would only ever arrest people during the commission of a crime. The truth was, a man was innocent until evidence cast a mote of suspicion - _then_ he was guilty until another suspect proved more viable. 

Cops charged and found innocent of crimes were always under a shadow for the rest of their lives. It was pretty much the same for everyone else. 

So was that what Blair was worried about? 

Or was there something else? 

"Sandburg?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You okay?" 

The young man grunted, "Would you be?" 

And Simon left it at that. After all, what could he say? 

* * *

Jim did his best not to speed. With things as they were, the last thing he needed was a reprimand on his record. But it was hard. Very hard in fact. 

Hard to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. Simon hadn't told them everything. If he'd just wanted to ask Blair a few questions, he could have done so at the loft. So Blair had to be a suspect. 

Time slowed down on the journey. He'd known it would. Time always slowed like this, when he didn't want it to. As though the world was having its own zone. 

But he did eventually get there. He did eventually pull into the parking garage, made it to the lift, rose through the building and emerge into Major Crimes. Again, he tried not to speed as he made his way to Simon's office, paying no attention to the looks thrown at him as he passed. 

He didn't knock - though Simon didn't seem surprised. 

"What's happening?" 

"Sit down, Jim." 

"What has my sitting down got to do with it?" 

Simon sighed, got up, closed his door and with a firm hand, pushed Jim into a seat. He then perched on the edge of his desk and laced his hands together. "The investigation has been taken out of my hands." 

"By who?" 

"IA. Although Sandburg isn't a cop, they have decided that he works too closely with Major Crimes for us to treat the situation with sufficient objectivity." 

"That's crap, Simon..." 

"No, it's not. For once, I agree with them." 

"Why?" 

Simon took in a deep breath. "If Sandburg is innocent, I'd rather he was cleared by IA than us. There'll be no questions lingering afterwards." 

Jim stared at the man he thought he'd known. He got slowly to his feet. "I want in on this." 

"No." 

"Simon..." Jim began, not bothering to keep the warning growl out of his voice. 

"No, Ellison." Simon's voice was equally sharp. "You _can't_ be a part of the investigation - you might be called as a witness." 

"A witness? A witness to what? Sandburg didn't do anything!" 

"Do you know that, Jim?" Simon stood and faced him. "Can you account for every minute of Blair's time? Are you going to tell me you think he's completely incapable of killing someone? Do you really know him that well?" 

Jim shut his mouth. He turned away and faced the window, pushing his hands into his pockets before he did violence with them. 

_"... Jim, you don't know anything about me..."_

Simon wasn't saying why - but he saw seeds of doubt. Saw something that made him wonder whether Blair might indeed be guilty. 

But ... 

Could he... 

Kill Nick? 

Blair Sandburg was probably the toughest person Jim had ever met, had re-defined the entire concept. He was tough in ways other men didn't get the chance to be. He'd taken on a whole new world when he'd begun to work with Jim, finding himself in situations constantly threatening to his own life and had never once, not in that whole time, had he ever once backed down. He'd never lost it, never crumpled, never faded. He'd just kept coming back and back and back. He was tough to the core - and Jim was sure, that if ever the moment came and Blair had to kill, he would do it. 

But murder? In cold blood? 

No. 

Even though he'd now had the time to consider it as a whole, he still came up with the same answer he'd known instinctively at the loft. Blair was not the innocent his eyes seemed to suggest some days - but he was no murderer. 

"Who's in charge?" 

"Detective John Warner. He's a good man. One of the best - for IA. He won't tear Sandburg to shreds." 

"Unless he has to." Jim turned and squared Simon off. "I want to watch the interrogation." 

Simon didn't look happy, "I don't know, Jim..." 

"Has my name been mentioned as a witness yet?" 

"No..." 

"Then I'm going." 

Simon didn't try to stop him. Instead, he followed Jim through the building until they reached Interview Room 2. Without a word, they stepped into the observation booth and Jim was glad it was dark because he didn't want Simon to see him, to see whatever expression was on his face. There were things Simon didn't deserve to know. 

Jim recognized Warner as he came into the room. He also recognized the uniform standing in the corner. 

Blair was already seated, picking at the cuff of his black and white checked shirt. He'd once said it was his favourite. 

Warner took a seat, placing the file on the table before him. Jim had met the man before a few times and Simon was right - if IA had to be involved, Warner was certainly the best of an otherwise bad bunch. That didn't mean this was going to be easy. 

"You name is?" Warner began. 

"Blair Sandburg." 

"Address?" 

"852 Prospect." 

"You're a TA at Rainier?" 

"That's right." 

"And a consultant to the Cascade PD, with Major Crimes?" 

"Yes." 

"What are you studying?" 

"Does it matter?" 

Warner looked up, smiled slightly and shook his head, "No, not really." 

"Anthropology." 

"Oh. I did a semester of that, myself." 

"Great," Blair replied with an edge of sarcasm. "Does that mean we're going to become best buddies?" 

Jim's stomach clenched at the tension in Blair's voice - but he said nothing. 

Warner simply raised his eyebrows and glanced back down at the file. He paused a moment then said, "How would you describe your relationship to the deceased, Nicholas Lansdowne?" 

There was only the briefest pause before Blair answered, his hand completely still, his head up, his gaze steady on Warner. "We were not on speaking terms at the time of his death." 

"And before that?" 

"We ... " 

Jim held his breath as Blair's gaze flickered to the glass window, the one he couldn't see through - and yet, Jim knew Blair was looking for him. 

"Mr Sandburg?" Warner prompted quietly. 

Blair sighed, "We were lovers. But we'd broken up." 

Jim closed his eyes for a second - long enough to hear the gasp of surprise from Simon. He didn't even bother addressing it. 

Warner, on the other hand, didn't seem surprised at all. "How long had you had this relationship with the deceased?" 

"We'd been together about three months before we broke up." 

"And what was the cause of your relationship ending?" 

"Nick just decided it was over. He never really told me why." 

"You asked him?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"The day after he dumped me." 

"Which was?" 

"Um... I guess ... Friday was the 11th - so it would have been Saturday the 12th. That's the last time I saw him." 

"And how would you describe that meeting?" 

Blair shrugged, appearing very tired. "Tense. I went over to collect some things I'd left there. I asked him why he'd dumped me - he refused to say." 

"And then you left?" 

"Not quite. I mean, I did leave a few minutes later - but not before his new lover walked in. I think he'd been listening from the bedroom. Then Nick admitted they'd been seeing each other for a few weeks - and that's when I left." 

"You drove home?" 

"Yeah." 

"Did you have any further contact with the deceased after that?" 

Blair frowned a moment, then shook his head. "No." 

"What time did you leave Mr Lansdowne's house?" 

"I don't really know. I certainly didn't look at my watch. But I wasn't there for more than ten minutes. I think it was about nine when I got home." 

"Can anyone verify that? Did you see anyone on the way? Was your room-mate home when you got there? Did you make any calls?" 

"No. Nobody saw me. Not until dawn. Jim had been at work and that's when he came home." 

"But you definitely didn't speak to him before that?" 

"No." 

Warner nodded and pulled a clear plastic bag out of his pocket. Jim could easily see the piece of brown pottery it contained. "Do you recognize this?" 

"Sure," Blair frowned again, his voice dropping, giving away too much for Jim's liking. "It's ... it looks like a lamp I gave Nick, a few days before we broke up." 

"Is there any reason why your fingerprints would still be on it?" 

"I ..." And Jim could hear the sudden increase in heart beat, could almost smell the fear coming through the glass before him. "Nick wanted me to take it. He handed it to me - but I gave it back. I didn't want it." 

"What did he do with it?" 

"I ... I think he put it back down on the table by the wall." 

"So it was in one piece the last time you saw it?" 

"Yes, definitely." 

"And you left how long after that?" 

"I don't know," Blair snapped, "I wasn't keeping a stopwatch on myself!" 

Warner's voice was calm, "A guess?" 

"Maybe two, three minutes." 

With another nod, Warner glanced down at the file. Without looking up, he read, "The victim sustained blows to the face and torso. Cause of death was severe brain damage due to a blow to the head from a heavy object, pottery, possibly of African origin. Pieces of this lamp were found at the scene with the deceased's blood, hair and tissue all over them." Warner looked up again. "Along with your fingerprints, Mr Sandburg." 

Blair's mouth was shut tight, but his nostrils flared with the effort of trying to breathe. Jim put a hand on the glass separating them, helpless, needing to help but knowing he couldn't. 

"I told you," Blair said through clenched teeth, his knuckles white, "I held the lamp for a minute while I was there - but that was weeks ago." 

Warner didn't blink at all. "The autopsy confirms time of death to be on or around the last date you saw the deceased, Mr Sandburg." 

"But ... but..." 

"Did you murder Nicholas Lansdowne?" 

"No." 

Warner put the file aside, brought his hands together and leaned forward. "How about this? Nick dumped you. You went around to see him, to get your stuff - but he doesn't really want to talk to you. He just wants you to go because he can't be bothered - after all, he's got this new lover, hasn't he? Or is the new lover a figment of your imagination? We found no other fingerprints in the house but yours and the deceased's. So maybe Nick doesn't have a new lover - but he still doesn't want to see you any more. He doesn't want your gifts, either. So when he gives you the lamp back, you hit him with it. It's pretty heavy and it doesn't break immediately. So you hit him again and again until he's on the floor and not moving." 

"No ..." 

"Or maybe things weren't that bad, eh? Maybe you thought a little ... togetherness might fix things. Perhaps you tried to get intimate and perhaps you succeeded. But then, a few hours later, Nick decides that it was just a goodbye thing and he still wants you out - so you fight. You hit him, he hits you - but he's taller and stronger than you so you reach for a weapon." 

"No! That's not how it happened at all! I left there! I wasn't there more than ten minutes! I couldn't just stand there with that new man looking at me! I left! I went home!" 

"Not according to the neighbours." Warner collected the file and got to his feet. "Three different neighbours recall seeing your car in the street between 8.15pm and noon the next day. Was that when you killed him?" 

Blair just sat there, his mouth open. No shock, no horror, no nothing showed on his face. It was a complete blank. 

"I will be placing you under arrest for the murder of Nicholas Lansdowne. I suggest you use your phone call and find yourself a good lawyer, Mr Sandburg. We are not, at this time, pursuing other lines of enquiry." 

With that, he turned and left the room. Instantly, Jim spun and met him out in the hallway. "Warner, wait! You can't honestly believe Sandburg did this?" 

"Ellison, I don't bother with belief or otherwise. At the moment, your partner is our prime suspect. The evidence certainly points to him." 

"But it's all circumstantial. There's no forensic evidence tying him to the scene." 

"Apart from his fingerprints?" Warner stepped back and shook his head. "I have a search warrant for both his home and office." 

Temper rising, Jim had to hold on tight not to explode. He felt Simon's heavy presence behind him and wanted to shout at both of them. "This is ridiculous. Sandburg wouldn't even carry a gun to back me up on the street. There's no way he would do something like this." 

Warner raised a calm eyebrow. "I note you say would rather than could. Your loyalty to your partner is admirable, Detective but I suspect it is misplaced. Your real loyalty should be to the law." 

"Why? When the law is ready to convict him for something he didn't do?" 

"If he's innocent, Detective, then he will be found so. You've spent years trusting the law. I suggest you continue to do so. I also suggest you hold yourself immediately available. I have a few questions for you." 

Jim caught himself up. He paused, then nodded. "Fine. But I want to see Sandburg." 

"Not yet. Not until he's booked and processed." Warner turned, ready to leave. "Room one, Detective, in ten minutes." 

* * *

There wasn't anything to do now but sit and wait. Sit and count the minutes. There wasn't even the semblance of freedom to play with, just the frayed ends of his favourite shirt, the one he'd have to replace soon. 

But how do you replace a favourite shirt? 

Nick was dead. 

Dead. 

It just didn't seem to fit. Those words together. Just didn't. 

Nick couldn't be dead. He wasn't the kind of guy to get murdered like that. He was the kind of guy who would grow into old age ungraciously, complaining all the time about how his hair was going grey and when he'd start arranging his first plastic surgery. He was the kind of guy who was bothered about getting old, bothered about looking good and taking care of himself. He was the kind of guy who took care of others. Took care of Blair. 

He'd been interested from the first. Blair hadn't. 

Sure, he'd been charmed - and flattered by the attention. When he'd first met the man at that craft fair, Nick had left every one of his customers and had spent nearly half an hour trying to convince Blair to go out with him. 

Blair had lost count of the number of times he'd said no - and of the number of different ways Nick had tried to get him to agree - all with the utmost charm, the utmost humour - and all of it was seeping into Blair, all of it. So when Nick had turned up at Rainier the next day, a picnic lunch in his hands, Blair had really had no choice but to give in. He'd laughed about it for days. He'd never been pursued like that before. Never felt somebody want him that much. 

And Nick had wanted him. They'd gone out that first night. They'd had dinner, walked along the waterfront, talked and laughed until Nick had kissed him and Blair had realized that he wanted Nick just as much. 

Even that first night in bed, Blair had felt something different about this man, different from the others he'd gone out with. None of them had lasted beyond a second date - but Nick? Nick rang him every day. Nick sent him notes. Nick left gifts for him in his office or on the pillow in the morning if he had to leave early. Nick always smiled hugely when he saw Blair, always pouted a little when they had to part. Nick always touched him with such genuine want. And he'd thought, in fact, he'd been convinced - that Nick loved him. 

And now, Nick was dead. 

And Nick had never loved him. Nor had he loved Nick. 

In fact, Nick had happily cheated on him, with some guy Blair could hardly remember now. Just a few moments he'd had to look at that smug face - and that was it. That smug look - on the face of a murderer. 

But Nick was still dead. 

Blair got up. He pushed the chair back and stood. He turned and paced a little, a burning energy rippling through his body which would normally mean he'd get a lot of work done tonight except - 

Except that, unless a miracle happened some time in the next few hours, he'd spend tonight in a cell, arrested for the murder of a man he couldn't believe was dead. A man he'd shared his bed with for three months. A man he'd spent the last few weeks hating. 

Fingerprints. Car ... damn, why had he forgotten about the car! Lamp. Relationship. Split up. Nick and murder. 

I'm fucked. 

"Blair?" 

He paused and glanced up at the uniform cop standing by the door. "What?" 

"I'd be more comfortable if you sat down, okay?" 

The level request hit him like a slap in the face. "What? You afraid I'll jump you?" 

"Please." 

"Oh, and manners makes it okay, does it? What gets you most? That I'm in here for murder - or that I was sleeping with ... with the deceased, eh?" 

"Just sit!" No more Mr Nice Guy. 

"Sure." Blair snapped. "I'll sit. Wouldn't want _you_ to feel uncomfortable, would we?" 

He pulled out his chair and sat, deliberately turning his back on the other man. 

Yeah, he was fucked. Royally. 

Even Simon thought he was guilty. Probably the guys in the bullpen as well. The gossip would be all over by now. Jim wouldn't be able to help hearing it... 

Blair swallowed. 

Jim. 

Jim wouldn't ... he wouldn't ... Would he? Would he think ... 

He was a cop. He'd look at the evidence and he'd ... 

Blair swallowed again, his eyes stinging. He took a deep breath, trying to contain the heavy thing sitting in his chest. 

If Jim thought he was guilty ... then he really was fucked ... 

But if Jim thought he was innocent ... 

He closed his eyes. 

Jim wouldn't be allowed in on an IA case. He wouldn't get to see the files, wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the crime scene and certainly wouldn't be allowed to see the body. So all the things Jim would normally do to solve a crime like this, he would be prevented from doing. But if he knew Jim, that wouldn't stop the man. Jim would do anything and everything within his power to help Blair. Not Simon, not IA not the devil himself would stop him. 

As long as he believed Blair was innocent. 

Yeah, definitely fucked. 

* * *

"Okay, Detective, how long have you known Blair Sandburg?" 

"Almost three years." 

"And he lives in your apartment with you?" 

"That's right." 

"How would you describe your relationship?" 

"We're friends. Partners." 

"Partners? Here, at the PD?" 

"That's right?" 

"Nothing more?" 

"Isn't that enough?" 

"That's not for me to judge." 

"Then rephrase your question." 

"Are you and Mr Sandburg intimate?" 

"What difference would it make if we were?" 

"In what we believe was a crime of passion, possibly quite a bit. Do you and Mr Sandburg have an intimate relationship?" 

"We're friends." 

"Are you sleeping together?" 

"No." 

"Have you in the past?" 

"No." 

"Were you aware of your partner's homosexual relationship with the deceased?" 

"Yes." 

"Were you aware of their break-up?" 

"Yes." 

"Would you say Mr Sandburg was upset about it?" 

"Yes." 

"Upset enough to go back there the next night and kill his ex-lover?" 

"No." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive." 

"What time did he leave home the night of the 12th?" 

"I don't know - maybe eight or so." 

"When did you next see him?" 

"About six the next morning." 

"And what frame of mind did he appear to be in?" 

"He was upset. Bitter. Angry with himself for not realizing Nick had been cheating on him. But he pulled himself together and went to work with me later." 

"Did he seem unusually upset?" 

"How usual is it for a man to find his lover has been cheating on him? Yes, he was upset. But I know Blair and if he'd just come back from killing the man, he would have been a lot more upset than that." 

"So you'd say you know Blair that well." 

"Yes. I would." 

"Did you know he was going to see Nick that evening?" 

"Yes." 

"Did you expect him home?" 

"I didn't know. I thought there was a possibility they might get back together." 

"So Blair was determined to get Nick back?" 

"I don't know about determined - but I'm sure the thought crossed his mind." 

"And you went out what time?" 

"About half an hour after that." 

"And you were on a case until you got home." 

"Yes." 

"Weren't you worried about your partner?" 

"Yes." 

"Did you try to call him?" 

"...." 

"Detective?" 

"Yes, I did." 

"At what time?" 

"About eleven and again at about two." 

"And did you speak to him?" 

"No. I got the machine both times." 

"But he was there when you got home." 

"Yes. He was asleep on the couch." 

"What was he wearing?" 

"Wearing?" 

"Yes, his clothes. Were they the same ones he'd gone out in?" 

"No." 

"I see. Do you have any evidence to suggest that somebody other than your partner was responsible for the murder of Nicholas Lansdowne?" 

"No." 

"Thank you, Detective. That will be all for now." 

* * *

Simon sat in his office and watched the bullpen. For the last hour, he'd fended off calls from neighbouring departments and even one from the mayor. Questions about Sandburg. Questions about what he was going to do about Sandburg. Questions about how deeply involved his best detective was with this affair. Questions about how long it would take the press to find out. 

But the bullpen was quiet. Almost ghostly. Not a word of laughter - not even from Henry Brown. It was eerie. What was worse was that nobody was asking him. They all knew. They'd all seen him bring Sandburg in, saw the IA guys arrive and head into interrogation, knew Jim was in there now. But nobody was asking him anything. As though they already knew. 

But what did they know? That Sandburg was guilty - or innocent? 

Or did it have as much to do with the revelation about Sandburg's relationship with Lansdowne? 

Jim hadn't seemed surprised - but Simon had been. He'd never thought for one second that Blair had been interested in men. Not for one minute. He could have sworn that Blair was as straight as they came. He was always full of tales about the women he was seeing - god, the bullpen was littered with his cast-offs. So how could he have known? 

But Jim had known. Did it bother him? 

Didn't seem to - but that was no guarantee. 

A movement from the left caught Simon's eye and he watched as Jim emerged from interrogation and come down the hall, like trouble bound up with a thundercloud frown. He stalked through the bullpen and right into Simon's office. 

"We have to do something." 

"Like what?" 

"IA isn't looking for other suspects, Simon. There has to be a killer out there - and it's up to us to find him. We need to get a description of this other guy from Sandburg. We need to look into Lansdowne's past, see if he's got any enemies. We have to do something." 

"And you don't think IA will investigate fully?" 

"No! I don't! Jesus, Simon, what is it with you? Do you think Sandburg did this?" 

"You don't." 

"DO YOU!" 

Simon rose to his feet and placed his hands on his desk. "Your partner has been arrested on a charge of first degree murder, Detective. The matter is being investigated by IA. Anything - and I mean _anything_ that we do will be seen as an attempt to pervert the course of that investigation, an attempt to protect one of our own. So I'm going to make this a direct order, Jim, you will not now, nor at any point indulge your desire to investigate further. If I find you have disobeyed me, I will suspend you. Do I make myself clear?" 

Jim stood there, blinking slowly, "I don't believe you, Simon," he said softly. "Blair helped save your life on two separate occasions. He's risked his life I don't know how many times for the sake of this department. If he was a cop, would you be acting like this?" 

"The fact that he's not a cop makes no difference to me." 

"But you still think he's guilty, don't you? I thought you knew him better than that. I thought you trusted him." 

Simon took his seat again and leaned back. "I thought I knew him too \- and let's not beat around the bush here - Sandburg has risked his life in this department to help _you_. You're the reason he's here, no other." 

"So you're going to throw him to the wolves because he's what ... gay? Because he's not a cop and because he was sleeping with Lansdowne. Right. I get it. Funny, you know, because he always thought you were his friend. I thought you, above all people, would be inclined to believe in him. When has he ever given you reason to think he can't be trusted?" 

Simon sat up and made a show of getting back to work. "I suggest you go home and get some rest." 

"I'm not leaving here without Sandburg." 

"He'll be lucky to get bail tonight." 

"Then I'll be sleeping outside his cell." 

"Damnit, Jim!" Simon snapped. "The man's accused of murder! Are you going to throw your career away on this?" 

"Yeah, if I have to." 

Simon could see it. Right there, in the man's eyes. Danger marked every inch of that face, every muscle in that body. Jim Ellison would not be moved on this. Jim Ellison was sure. He was determined. He was positive. He ... _knew_ his partner was innocent. 

Where did that leave Simon? 

Edging away from doubt? 

But the evidence... 

Did he really? Doubt Sandburg? 

"Shit." 

He sank back into his seat and shook his head. Almost instantly, some of the tension eased in Jim's face. 

"Please, Simon, let me look into it. Let me get at the evidence. You _know_ what I can do. We can't just abandon him." 

"The point is, I don't have control over it and you know it." 

"Then I'll have to do it on my own." 

"No." 

"You can't stop me." 

"Then," Simon sighed. This was not turning out to be one of his better days. "You leave me no choice but to suspend you." 

The Ellison jaw clenched shut - but he moved quickly, pulling out his gun and shield. He slapped both on Simon's desk and walked out of the office without another word. 

* * *

Jim walked down the corridor with no thought of where he was going. He just walked. It wasn't until he got to the break room that he stopped. He just came to a halt. He turned, went in and sat. 

Blair was being booked. If they were quick, they might be able to get a judge to set bail tonight. So Jim needed money. Fast. 

He pushed the door closed and picked up the phone. Three calls later and he had most of what he suspected the figure would be. But he'd run out of ideas. If there was some way to find Naomi, she was sure to have some money put aside. Or perhaps he should ask his father ... Or Stephen ... 

No. Not Stephen. Sure, he'd help - but Jim had already involved him in one way - more would be dangerous. 

Carefully, he closed his eyes and opened up his hearing, listening for Warner's voice - or better still, Blair's. He could find neither. 

The break room door opened and Jim looked around. Joel was standing there, hand on the door, a little hesitant. "What is it? More bad news?" 

"Simon told me he suspended you." 

"I guess I'd better get out of here, then." 

"No - I guess, yes - but that's not ... I mean .. Well, hell, Jim, does Blair need bail money? I've got some I can get my hands on. Is he okay? He must be upset that this friend of his has been murdered. I just wanted to ... you know ..." 

Like a flood falling away, Jim found almost every muscle in his body suddenly relax. All but those in his face, which formed a welcome smile. "Thanks, Joel. Yes, the money would be good. I've got most of it - but I think we'll need more." 

"What about a lawyer?" 

"I don't know. I'll have to talk to Blair about it first." 

Joel came in and sat down. "Have you spoken to him yet?" 

"No. They won't let me see him until he's finished in processing." 

"Well, when you do see him, tell that we're all with him, okay? Everyone. We want to help. And ..." 

"What?" 

"Simon ... well, when he told me he'd suspended you, he said to ... help out." 

"Help out?" Jim frowned, glanced over his shoulder towards the bullpen and then back at Joel. "Does that mean what I think it means?" 

"Well, I don't know, Jim," Joel offered a small smile. "What do you think it means?" 

Jim's smile grew. He knew Simon wouldn't let him down - not once he'd had a chance to think about it. There's no way anybody who knew Blair could think he was a murderer. "Well, I think we could interpret it a number of different ways. For a start, there's moral support." 

"True." 

"And then, there's a few things I need done - just to clear up my desk, of course." 

"Of course. And those would be?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Running a background check on Nick Lansdowne maybe? Friends and associates? Business contacts?" 

Joel grinned. "You got it." 

"But spread the work out if you can. I don't want anybody to notice anything, okay?" 

"I'll call you with what we come up with in the morning." 

"Joel, you're a pal." 

"I hope so." 

* * *

It took forever. Every minute lasted its own forever, and then there was another minute to live through. And another after that. Drawing out, excruciating, silent. Each a little death, all on it's own. 

He didn't dare think what might happen. Didn't dare let his imagination run free. But every noise he heard, every word outside in the corridor, every time somebody said something to him, was like another nail in his coffin. Having his fingerprints taken was even worse. The mug shot? He shuddered. Forms, paperwork, the way people looked at him, the way they refused to. 

Dirt. That's what he was now. A spec of dirt to be trodden beneath their boots. 

Guilty until proven innocent. 

Evidence of past behaviour was no guarantee of future behaviour. 

Trust it seemed, had a short life-span. A use-by date that ran only as far as the next minute. More fragile than life itself. And where does a man go if nobody trusts him? 

He hadn't seen anything of Jim. No word, no visit. Nothing. 

No Simon, no Joel, no Rafe or Brown. He was alone, surrounded by people. Surrounded by those who once looked upon him as a friend but who now saw him only as an enemy. 

He filled out forms. He signed his statement. Warner made a reappearance and said something about asking more questions tomorrow. Something else about how the search of the loft had found nothing. And Warner was so nice about it, so polite, so calm. So butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth pleasant it only made the sick feeling in Blair's stomach worse. 

The weight inside him wouldn't shift. Every thought he had only added to it. Every thought he avoided only fed it, kept it alive. 

He wouldn't last. He knew that. It had only been hours so far but if he had to live the rest of his life in prison, he knew he wouldn't last. He wouldn't want to. Perhaps they'd be merciful and give him the death penalty. 

He couldn't live without freedom. Couldn't be anything that he wanted to be, anything that he was. And he was small, relatively defenceless. He'd lose out big time in the prison environment. Lose out when faced with real criminals for whom violence was a way of life. 

No, he wouldn't last. Wouldn't want to. Would do anything - yes, _anything_ to avoid that fate. 

So he was now down to looking for opportunities. At least it was something to keep himself occupied with. 

Then finally, the whole horrible process was over and he was taken down to holding. A lamb to the slaughter. The cells. Cold and full of people he didn't want to know. 

It was amazing really, how easy it was to give up. Amazing how little effort it took. Amazing that somebody who had always been such a fighter, would do it so happily. But it was easier this way. Easier to live with it. Easier to just roll and take the punches and not worry about it. He'd been fighting every day for the last three weeks and where had it got him? Had it made a difference - a _positive_ difference? He'd pretty much lost Jim - and he'd definitely lost Nick. What was the point of fighting now? 

It was just too tiring. Too hard to keep going like that. He'd run out of energy, run out of the strength he needed to do it. If he'd not gone through all that crap with Nick - or better still, if all that stuff hadn't happened with Jim, he might have been left with something to fight with - or for. But time had robbed him and he was now bereft, content to drift, to let it lie. 

The cell door closed behind him. He listened for the clank of metal, listened for the echo. He paid no attention to his cell-mates. He just found a vacant spot by a wall and sat. 

A meal was brought around at some point. He hardly noticed. He wasn't hungry. Then the trays were cleared away and things settled down again. 

He drifted. 

Calm. 

He left the cell behind and just drifted. Back. In time. Back to moments with Naomi, when he'd been a kid. A drive across the country some time when he was eleven. They'd sung songs in the car, making up verses as they went along. He'd eaten apples and thrown the cores out the window, hoping to plant apple trees all across the country. Naomi had laughed and encouraged him. 

Drifting took him further, to another age. Seventeen. At school. A boy in class. They'd become friends. They'd gone on walks in the forest together. They'd kissed. Sweet, all of it. 

And then not so sweet. Drifting. Drifting forward until two nights ago. With Jim. 

How could he have known that would happen? He hadn't wanted it. Would never have wanted that with anybody - let alone Jim. But he'd reacted so badly when they were camping. So much of it was his fault. 

He should have been willing to talk about it. Should have been there for his friend. Should have been a better friend. A good friend, like Jim had taught him. After all, hadn't he gone through the whole sexuality question himself? Couldn't he have been just a little more understanding? 

And really, that was the core of his shame - not that they'd had sex \- but that he'd allowed it to get that bad. He should have helped Jim \- not condemned him. Jim had taught him a lot about friendship - he'd thought he'd learned better than that. 

He should have talked to Jim about it. Posed him a few questions. Made a few suggestions - and then, if Jim really was sure about it, perhaps offered to introduce him to a nice guy - or take him somewhere he could meet somebody or ... 

Drifting hurt. 

They'd been drifting apart, hadn't they? 

Drifting until it was no longer possible to pretend they were friends. And so that ... thing had happened on the floor. Harsh and desperate and horrible and yet so ... so ... 

Necessary? 

"Chief?" 

He opened his eyes and turned to look up. Jim was standing there, waiting. Beside him stood a uniformed officer, pulling out keys. 

"Come on, Chief. Time to get out of here." 

Frowning a little, Blair got to his feet. This didn't make any sense. He'd been arrested for killing Nick - were they now letting him go? 

Jim took his arm and steered him out of the cell. They headed down the corridor and made for the stairs to the garage. Blair just went along with it. After all, it wasn't like he had a choice any more. 

* * *

Jim didn't like the quiet - but he couldn't really find anything to say on the drive home. Blair was immobile - a bad sign. He just sat in his seat, staring out the window at nothing. Even when Jim swerved to avoid a car pulling out he said nothing. 

Jim couldn't do anything about it until he got home. But when he pulled up outside their building and got out, Blair just sat there. 

He walked around and opened the door. "Chief? You okay?" 

Blair turned his head slowly, blinked once and said, "Why are we here?" 

"We live here." 

"You live here." 

"So do you." 

"Oh." But he still sat there so Jim had to take his elbow and gently urge him out, lead him into the building and up to the loft. He opened the door and ushered Blair inside, turning on lights. 

Without pausing, he made for the coffee pot, making the brew a little stronger than normal. Then he went into Blair's room and grabbed him some sweats, clean and fresh. He didn't bother with words when he came out. Blair was standing where he'd left him. Suppressing an internal sigh, Jim just took his arm and led him into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and hoped for a moment, that Blair would emerge from wherever he was with the promise of getting clean. It didn't happen. 

Determined, Jim began to strip him off, tossing Blair's clothes into the hamper and snapping the lid down so neither of them would have to look. Then, with firm but gentle hands, he steered Blair into the shower. Still Blair didn't react. 

Getting more worried by the moment, Jim kicked off his shoes and stepped in behind him, pulling the curtain closed. He grabbed the sponge and soap and began to wash Blair's back, carefully and evenly, down to the legs and feet. Done, he turned Blair around and began on his front. He avoided the lax genitals but only because his courage only went so far. When Blair was rinsed, he pulled out shampoo and washed Blair's hair. Throughout it all, the younger man remained zombie-like, as though all this was happening to another person and he was watching from the outside. 

When he was finished, Jim turned off the water and got out. He pulled a towel around Blair, dried him off and got him dressed. He led him out to the living room, sat him down then dashed upstairs to change into some dry clothes. 

He made coffee next - but decided against anything alcoholic. He needed to get Blair awake and aware - and he needed to do it soon. 

Blair was lying curled up on his side on the couch when Jim came back with coffee. Staring into space without even acknowledging that Jim was even there. 

"Come on, Chief, have some coffee. You'll feel a little better." Jim sat on the small table holding out the cup. "I suppose you haven't eaten, but I won't force any food on you." 

No response. 

Jim sipped his own coffee, searching for words that might get some movement, some sign of life. "They set bail. The guys helped me get the money together. Joel and Rafe and H are doing a background search on Nick right now. They have to work on the quiet so IA doesn't hear about it." 

Nothing. 

"Chief, we're not going to let you go down for this, okay?" 

Still nothing. 

"I want you to forget about all that other stuff. You know, what we were fighting about. None of that matters right now. We have to work together to clear you. If you like, once you're free again, we can go back to shouting or maybe we can just try talking or something." 

Silence. 

This was more than simple shock. This went much deeper - and it was up to Jim to pull him out of it - for both their sakes. 

He put his coffee down and knelt on the floor. Carefully, he reached out and put his hand on Blair's shoulder, brushing it down his arm. He did it again, slowly, letting Blair feel his presence from whatever place he'd gone to. 

"I know how you feel, Chief." 

Finally, Blair blinked and opened his mouth. "Do you, Jim?" 

"Sure." 

"How do I feel?" The question was simple, almost child-like, as though Blair really was hoping Jim could tell him because he didn't know. 

"You're not alone." 

"Nick's dead." 

"I know." 

"Did I kill him?" 

"No." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." 

"How do I feel?" 

"Terrible." 

"Yeah." 

Jim moved to get off his knees - but Blair's hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve. He didn't let go - so Jim took a chance. He put his hand under Blair's elbow and urged him to sit up then stand up. "Come on, Chief." 

He led Blair around the furniture to his room, turning off the light. He gently pushed Blair down onto his bed - but still Blair wouldn't let go of him. Some small part of him was both unsurprised - and a little pleased by that tiny, silent gesture - so Jim sat with him, let him keep the contact. 

"Chief, I know you're tired and you need to rest. I know you're hurting and it feels so bad you don't want to come back - but I need your help. I need you to come back, okay? I need you to stick with me on this." 

"You never asked." 

That small voice was like a knife in his chest and he had to breath hard to dislodge it enough to reply. "No. I'm sorry. You were right. I ..." 

"You never asked if I killed Nick." 

Jim frowned, "No. I didn't need to." 

"Why not?" 

"Because I know you didn't kill him." 

"How?" 

"Because it's just not something you'd do." 

"He's dead," Blair whispered. "Nick's dead." 

And then Blair was tugging on his arm, pulling Jim closer and Jim moved, stretching out on the bed beside him and wrapping his arms around the smaller body. Blair was rigid in his arms but held onto him so tightly, Jim knew he'd have bruises later. 

"It's okay, Chief. We'll get you out of this. I know you're scared. I know you're sorry about Nick. It's okay, you know, to feel like that. I know you were angry with him but you didn't want him to die, did you?" 

"No. I only wanted him to be sorry." 

"Maybe he was." 

"Don't." 

"What?" 

"Make things up. Anybody would be sorry when their new lover killed them." 

"I suppose so." Jim settled a little more comfortably, rolling onto his back and pulling Blair onto his chest. The other man made no complaint, but took the comfort as it was offered. 

It was a shitty way to do it, but Jim couldn't help liking this. Couldn't help noticing the way this body felt in his arms, couldn't miss the close scent of Blair, feel the warmth, the movement of breathing. Blair was emerging, slowly perhaps, but emerging nonetheless. Soon, he wouldn't need this connection of touch to ground him - and Jim would miss it when it was gone. 

He didn't dare voice his own fear. 

"Chief?" 

"Yes?" 

"Can you tell me what happened? That night when you went to see Nick? Can you try to tell me every detail? Give me a description of this other guy?" 

Blair stiffened in his arms and pulled in a breath. "I don't want to go there." 

"I know. But you have to." 

"Why?" 

"I need to know as much as I can, so I can work out who killed Nick." 

"I ... can't." 

Jim waited a moment, hoping there would be more - but there wasn't. He didn't want to push this - but he was running out of time. Carefully, he lifted Blair off him and rolled them both so Blair was on his back, Jim looking down at him. 

Blair's eyes were open but there was still a vacancy to them that really worried him. "Chief, it's important that you tell me, okay? Important that ..." 

But Blair wasn't listening. Instead, he was studying Jim's face, his eyes drifting here and there, his hand coming up to touch lightly, to trace the contours of cheek and chin. When the fingers reached Jim's mouth, Jim caught them, held them, held onto how he was feeling inside, because it scared him, really scared him now. 

He wanted ... needed to love this man so badly. But this was not the time. This was the worst time possible. He couldn't say those words now, not when there was so much else they needed to focus on. 

Blair, it seemed, wasn't listening for any words at all. Within Jim's grasp, his fingers spread out over his lips, learning the shape, making things tumble and slide within Jim. 

He couldn't do this. Couldn't do this and live with himself afterwards. Blair was just reaching for comfort, reaching for something he understood, something he could hold on to. Something physical and real. 

And if Jim gave in now, Blair would never trust him again. 

"Please, Blair," he whispered against those fingers. "I can't." 

Blair stared at him, eyes wide - and instantly Jim knew he'd made a mistake. A big one. This wasn't about him - this was about Blair and giving Blair what he needed right now - not in two or three weeks, not when it was all calm and mended or anything. This was what Blair needed now and even if it did make problems later - at least they would have a later in which to regret them. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," Jim murmured, moving the hand up the side of his face, letting Blair feel the connection. "I know what you need." 

He moved closer and brought his lips down to that exposed neck, touching, tasting, biting just a little, just enough for Blair to feel it. 

"Jim... please ..." 

"Okay, Chief, okay." Another kiss, further down, close to the edge of cloth, another small bite. Blair needed to feel. Needed to feel something. 

So did Jim. Needed to feel this was right, so that Blair would trust him again. 

He shifted slightly, pulling the cotton top up, letting his mouth discover that chest, the soft hair, the tiny buds. He tasted one with just the tip of his tongue and Blair shuddered. He lapped at it again and Blair gasped. He brought his teeth to it and Blair arched, moaning as though his need was suddenly tenfold. Jim took the bud into his mouth, letting his hands roam freely, exploring something he'd only dreamed about, but all the while, keeping track of Blair's reactions, following his responses, letting them be his guide. 

Was this what loving meant? 

He wanted to take longer over this, wanted to linger and play and tease and make love in every sense - but this was not his game, was not his need. He took the other nipple in his mouth, took this one harshly, feeling Blair tremble beneath him, openly displaying his need. Jim let his hand drift further down, down until he found hardness beneath his palm. 

Blair clutched at him, digging fingers into his shoulder. In wonder, Jim slipped his hand inside the waistband until he could touch the straining flesh itself. 

Heat. Burning heat. Hard and silky, enticing to touch, addicting. So different to how he felt to himself. So good. 

His own erection was pushing at his clothes - but he ignored it. Instead, he licked and nibbled Blair's chest, letting his hand stroke the shaft slowly, carefully, lovingly. 

Blair moaned. A soulful cry from deep within. Jim pulled him closer, tighter, sped up his strokes, lavished attention on the beautiful cock in his hand, squeezed it, played with the head, the balls, ran his fingers through the hair surrounding them. 

Time. He wanted more time. He wanted to take that into his mouth, to love it within himself. 

But this was now and Blair needed this now without explanations, without trappings, without declarations or apologies or promises. 

He needed an affirmation of faith. 

Jim began to stroke harder, faster, letting the joy of doing this fill him, pick him up and fly with him. Blair was moaning softly now, hardly breathing and Jim could smell it, smell the arousal, feel the precum on the cock slick his hand, feel the balls tighten and draw him closer and he didn't want this to end, didn't want it to ever end but then Blair cried out and semen began to gush over Jim's hand, and he kept going, slower and more gently until it was over, until he could stop and let go, until he could force himself to forget the name he'd heard on Blair's lips, until he could trust himself to move. 

He pulled his t-shirt off and cleaned them up, tossing it into the corner. Then, his heart more sore than he would have thought possible, he gathered Blair to him and let him rest. 

* * *

The air was cold around him. Chilly and damp. 

Any minute now he was going to wake up and find that this last month was nothing more than a bad dream. A dream faking the affects of a nightmare. 

But nightmares ended, didn't they? So why couldn't he wake up from this one? Why did it have to keep going? Where was this going to leave his normal life? 

What life? 

Teaching. Studying. Playing professor. Idly dallying with intellectual concepts the way a child would with a set of building blocks. Pile one on top of the other, making nice patterns, pretty colours. Little things to amuse large minds. And it was so addictive, being a part of that world. The praise lavished upon a bright student, the challenges issued and the replies given. It was a battleground where weapons were words and ideas, an electric current which flashed the air around him, keeping him wired in, keeping him excited. 

Keeping him out of touch. 

He studied indigenous cultures then brought those lessons home, here, to where he could apply them to the real world. But was the real world any less deserving of the same kind of study? Simply because its traditions were newer, fresher and composed of so many others? 

He would never have known anything about any of it if he'd never met Jim Ellison. 

In one day, he'd been involved in preventing the murder of thirty people, nearly been blown to pieces, held a gun, hit a woman, comforted children. Real people in a real situation. Helping a real sentinel achieve his potential. 

Welcome to the real world. 

He'd lost his innocence. But really, as an anthropologist, he should never have had any in the first place. Innocence was a luxury an academic really couldn't afford. 

But it was a painful loss. A harsh embrace he and countless others would happily have lived without. His journey however, had been made so much easier than it could have been because his guide had been a man who understood what it meant, understood the undercurrents, the shifts in perception, the dangers of falling too far either side of that very narrow line. He had himself, ventured into the darkness of doubt, of despair, of need and desperation - and he had survived. He'd learned how to live with it and he'd given the gift of his experience with a free heart. 

"Are you awake?" 

Blair heard the voice from two directions. His head still rested on Jim's chest, his face pressed against warm flesh and a gentle thud of life. "Yes." 

"Can you talk now?" 

Now? Had he ever been able to talk? Had there ever been anything more than words? In all the things that had gushed out of his mouth, had there been anything real involved? 

Anger was so easy to communicate. Despair, frustration, confusion. Too easy. The gut reacted and brought them to the fore in words too hard to retract. Once said, they were out there, on permanent record. It didn't matter if the meaning had only been fleeting. It didn't matter that there were other things, much harder to say that should have been left in their place, things that had meanings that would last a lifetime and more. 

"Yeah, I can talk." More than that. He could do more than that. He could let go. He rolled away from Jim, sat up on the side of the bed, back to the other man. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of the way. He grabbed a tie and quickly wrapped it up. He didn't have the patience for more. "What do you want to know?" 

It was dark outside. Still night. Late, by the sounds of the traffic below. One long night curved around infinity like a protective blanket. Nightmares ended. Real life just went on. 

"I need to know what happened at Nick's that night. What you said, what he said. And I need a description of the other guy." 

"Yeah, I guess you do." Blair got up and went into the kitchen. He cleaned out the coffee machine and refilled it. He took a short trip into the bathroom, peed, cleaned his teeth, combed his hair and tied it back up. He grabbed his glasses on the way back out and found Jim putting cups on the bench. 

The bigger man didn't even glance at him. He wore his hurt well, as though he were accustomed to it, as though he expected it. He'd thrown a shirt on over his bare chest and for that, Blair was glad. Less of a reminder of what had happened last night. 

As if he were ever going to forget. 

Just who, exactly, was the teacher here? 

"You left here about eight, didn't you?" 

"Yeah." Blair leaned back against the bench by the coffee machine, folding his arms. 

"Did you go straight to Nick's?" 

"Yes." And Blair continued then, on his own, because he really, really didn't want this to come out like another interrogation, didn't want Jim to have to treat him like a suspect. So he told the story, letting memory fill him, letting details come forth from vocal inflection to clothes, to scents in the air. He left nothing out, not even his feelings. It was a total package, to be told this way or not at all. Jim had the coffee poured and was handing him a cup by the time he was finished. 

"And nothing seemed out of the ordinary to you?" 

If anybody else had asked this question, Blair would have snapped - but three years working with a sentinel had taught him a lot. Patience for a start. "No. Not that I could see. He was getting ready to go away for a few weeks. I suppose that's why nobody noticed he was missing until the other day." 

"Giving the killer a good chance of getting away before anybody noticed a crime had been committed." 

"Yeah." Blair sipped his coffee and looked up. Jim was standing with his back to the island, mug in one hand, his gaze somewhere in the distance before him. "Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

So many things out there between them now, so many of them bad. He had to replace one of them. If only one was all he could afford. "You're a good friend." 

Jim's expression turned hard, cracked at the edges. His eyes grew overly bright and that muscle in his jaw began working. He didn't look at Blair but shook his head instead, "No, Chief. I'm not. You want to put some warm clothes on? We really need to get moving. We'll only have a couple of hours as it is." 

* * *

He parked four streets away, in front of an all-night market. They went in the front door and emerged from the back then headed out, keeping to shadows. It took no more than five minutes to reach Nick's house, the only mark of the police investigation visible from the street being the yellow tape across the door. 

Jim led the way around the back and let Blair guide him to a window that might be opened. Under cover of a maple bush, they pulled on rubber gloves, climbed inside - and Jim was instantly assaulted with the odour of a body three weeks decomposing before discovery. 

He groaned - and immediately Blair was there. 

"Okay, Jim, just dial it down." 

"Should have brought masks. Can't you smell it?" 

Blair blinked a moment then nodded, "Yeah, I can smell it. Would have been worse if we'd come yesterday, when he was still here." 

Jim wanted to hug him then, for that small, frail attempt at humour. Seemed Blair was tougher than they both thought. "Come on. Show me where the hall is. You don't need to go in." 

Blair simply turned and made his way through the kitchen and living room before he paused in an archway. A taped marker lay on the wooden floor, depicting the shape of a body. 

Jim reached out. Blair had called him a good friend so he reached out and squeezed a shoulder rigid and stiff with shock. Blair just nodded a little and stood aside for Jim to have a look around. 

Nick had fallen in the hall, but his legs remained in the living room. Most of the pottery lamp had been collected, but even in the dark, he could pick up small shards here and there, a faint powder residue by the wall. He touched a finger to it, bringing up to smell. "Is there anything missing? That you notice?" 

"In here? Apart from the lamp... " Blair paused and turned around. "Well, there were a couple of new ebony statues on the mantle. They're not there now." 

"When did you last see them?" 

"I don't know." 

"Think, Chief, it might be important. Were they there when you were here that night?" 

"No ... I don't think so." 

"Anything else?" 

Blair paused and shook his head, "No, nothing." 

Jim knelt down and took a close look at the blood stain on the floor. He could detect nothing overtly unusual about it. 

"Do you think," Blair's whisper caught the air. "That if you hadn't been a sentinel, you would still have been a cop?" 

"I became a cop before I became a sentinel." Jim shifted and looked further along the skirting board. More faint evidence of the lamp were there as well, along with some glass - probably the bulb. 

"But you were always a sentinel, remember? What I mean is, are there things about being a cop that interested you outside of needing to protect the tribe." 

"Like?" 

"Like wanting to find answers to things. Like needing to understand why people act the way they do." 

Jim straightened up and turned, paying close attention now to the door. "I suppose so. Though I don't know how much I understand even now, after all these years." 

"You know enough to look in the right places." 

"That's just practice and training. And _you_ taught me how to use my senses in my work." 

There was nothing on the door so Jim turned again and glanced at Blair. "Which way is the bedroom?" 

He could see the question on Blair's lips, wanting to ask why he needed to see the bedroom - but it remained unasked. He nodded, stepped over the tape and headed down the hall, stopping before an open door. Jim went in. 

It was like all those awful compulsions he'd tried to avoid all through his life. It was like every bad dream he'd ever had. It was like every shadow he'd ever dwelt in had taken up residence in that room. 

And he could afford to ignore none of them. The choice wasn't his. The choice lay with IA and a case they intended to pursue. So Jim had to approach the bed, had to examine the bare mattress and look for things he had no right to know about. 

IA had already taken the sheets. They'd obviously found no direct evidence on them or it would have come into Blair's interrogation. 

He leaned close, breathing deeply. The bed had been used. There were scents here, some he recognized, some he didn't. Not wanting to ask Blair for help, he concentrated and isolated, just as he'd been taught. Yes, he could scent Blair on the bed - and ... Nick. He recognized enough to count out two distinct presences - but there was another, here, a slightly stronger smell, more ... acrid. This had to be the murderer. The new lover. 

He pulled the torch out of his pocket and flashed it on the floor beside the bed. Getting down close, he found strands of fair hair embedded in the rug, Nick's hair. He looked further and found others, darker, curly and he had to hold his breath because this was too much, too close, even worse than looking at the bed though that had been shitty as well and why, why in god's name had he never realized how he felt until now, until it was too late? Why hadn't he known before and done something before Blair had given so much to a man who hadn't given a damn about him? 

But Jim couldn't, could he? Though he loved, he couldn't do more, couldn't give more - not in the way Blair had given to Nick. Couldn't be more than a friend. 

His fingers moved until they found what they were looking for. Another hair. Dark - but shorter and definitely not curly. He left it where it was and straightened up. 

Gritting his teeth, Jim opened the bedside drawer. He ignored the items he found in there - for none of them matched the other scent that he'd been getting in this room. It was so faint, he could almost have missed it - but with his senses dialled right up, it sat there, a question begging attention. He tried the other drawers, under the bed, in the closet. In every conceivable nook this room possessed. 

Nothing. 

He straightened up and turned for the door, to find Blair standing there, watching him, his gaze flickering towards the bed and back. Grim, determined, holding on and it took all of Jim's self-control not to reach out again, reach out and be the good friend because he really didn't know what that was any more. Didn't know where the lines had been drawn and where the rule book was hidden. 

Blair glanced back to him again and Jim could feel the faint flush burn those cheeks. "I'm sorry, man. This can't be ... I don't know ... can't be easy for you to ..." 

"Forget it, Chief." Jim waved a hand to dismiss the suggestion. He couldn't begin to get close to it and they didn't have time right now. "Did Nick own a gun?" 

Blair frowned, "No." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive. We had a long talk about it once. He felt much the same way about it as I did. He wouldn't even have one in the house." 

"Was there any chance he was just saying that? Because it's what you wanted to hear?" 

"When he was a kid, his next door neighbour's father was in the army. When the father was at home, he would dismantle his service revolver and hide the pieces in different parts of the house. One day when the mother was outside, the older boy got all the pieces together, loaded the gun and shot and killed his baby sister by accident. The boy was seven years old and Nick's best friend. No, Nick would never have a gun in the house." Blair took a breath. "Why?" 

"I'm getting traces of gun oil here and there. Things that don't belong \- but I can't find any physical evidence. If it was just the forensics team and the investigating cops, then the smell would be all through the house - but I can only smell it in here. It's not that strong, but then again, the trail is three weeks old." 

"But if it's three weeks old, it must have been pretty strong at the time of the murder." 

"Exactly." 

"So Nick's lover had a gun." 

"That's right." Jim turned and made for the built-in closet. He slid the door open to find a row of shirts hanging where the dead man had left them. The scent of gun oil was stronger here - much stronger. Perhaps the man had hidden here when he'd heard Blair arrive. 

"Nick couldn't have known about the gun." 

"No." 

"So why didn't he use it? Why use the lamp?" 

"Perhaps he was going to. Until you walked in. If he was standing in here with the intent to kill Nick, he might have taken his gun out, just in case. There might be faint traces of gun oil on some of these clothes. I don't know. Without a proper forensics test, we can't prove it." 

"But that doesn't answer why he didn't use it." 

"Why kill Nick that night? Probably minutes after you left? Why use a lamp he would have known had your fingerprints all over it?" 

Blair paled, "Shit." 

"Exactly." He headed out of the bedroom, "Come on, I want to look at the bathroom." 

White tiles and black trimmings and art deco. Very tidy and neat in a way that repulsed Jim. Too tidy. As though the bathroom was never used but kept in this condition to impress people. How could Blair have felt comfortable here? 

Tidy - but not clean. Not _spotlessly_ clean. There was a mark, on the wall grouting below the basin. Just a spec. 

Blood. 

Jim fished a plastic bag and tweezers out of his pocket. He scraped the evidence into the bag and set about looking for more. He found a second and collected that as well. He felt Blair's presence behind him. "How are you doing?" 

Blair's voice was steady, if a little rough. "Okay." 

"The killer washed in here - then cleaned the bathroom thoroughly. I'd bet forensics found nothing in here." 

"How come he didn't leave any fingerprints? I mean, if he and Nick ... well, if they'd been here before that night ..." 

"There's no guarantee the killer had ever been here before that night \- and in fact, the chances were, he hadn't. You spent a lot of time here. If Nick was hiding something, he would hardly bring it home where you'd find out about it." 

"I guess." 

"And maybe the killer had only just arrived before you did..." 

"So ... you ... didn't ... um, get any ... anything from the bed?" 

Jim kept his gaze down. This was not a good time to look up. "Yes." 

"Aw ... shit ... I ..." 

Jim drove on, not wanting to give him a moment longer to think about stuff he hated. "On the other hand, the killer might just have easily spent a good hour wiping everything down, changing the sheets. Forensics don't dust every single surface, you know. There could be fingerprints here they didn't find." 

"But he _did_ touch the lamp." 

Jim put the scant evidence in his pocket and turned to face the smaller man. "Yeah." 

"So, he was what? Wearing gloves?" 

"That's the most likely scenario." 

"So ... it was deliberate? He _meant_ to kill Nick when he got here?" 

"Meant to kill Nick and use you as a scapegoat. Yes." Jim flexed his fingers within his own gloves. "I hope when Joel gives us that background information this will start to make sense - but from the looks of it, I'd say this was a contract kill." 

"Oh, fuck!" Blair sagged against the wall. "Are you sure?" 

"Pretty much, yeah. He had means and opportunity. We just need to find the motivation and we might have a case." 

"But, Jim, _I_ had means and opportunity - and motivation!" 

"But you didn't have _enough_ motivation, did you?" 

For a moment, Blair just stared at him. Then abruptly, his eyes filled with tears and he turned and left. Jim found him waiting in the kitchen by the window, ready to leave. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Let's just get out of here." 

The exit was easier and Jim deliberately took a different route back to the truck. They were on the way back home before Blair said another word. "Patrick said he thought Nick had lied to me about a lot of things in his past." 

"I've always thought Patrick was pretty good with people." Jim glanced aside, "Do you think it's possible?" 

"That Nick was involved with something that might get him killed?" Blair paused, then nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, when I realized he had someone else, I was shocked, you know? Like when you suggested it and I didn't want to think that might happen, that he'd do something like that to me but then when I saw it, I guess I wasn't as shocked as I should have been. But I was ... hurt and that kind of overwhelmed everything else. It's just so ... hard to make sense of it when you're in the middle, you know? That was the first time I'd been with a guy for more than a couple of dates and I don't know, I kept thinking that maybe he was different. Maybe there was something good there and I guess I blew it. Maybe I pushed too hard or tried too hard or didn't do enough but one way or the other I can't help thinking that if we hadn't broken up, Nick might still be alive." 

"Or you might be dead as well." 

He felt shocked eyes on him and he shrugged, "If it was a contract kill, Nick had had it anyway. If you'd still been with him, it's possible you might have been taken out as well." 

"But ... but if it was a contract, why did the guy string Nick along? Why sleep with him before ..." 

"We don't know that's what happened. As far as I can tell, they'd been in bed together some time before you turned up that night. That might have been the first time for all we know." 

"Do you think he knew? That he was in danger?" 

"Did he seem nervous to you?" 

"No." 

"Then I'd say he didn't have a clue." Jim wanted to ask, wanted to go back a bit and ask about those other guys Blair had gone out with, the ones that had only lasted a couple of dates. Wanted to know what was different about Nick. Wanted to ask why it had taken so long for Blair to admit he'd been dating guys for a long time. Wanted to ask how he'd felt about it in the beginning - but he couldn't ask something like that. Not now. 

Perhaps never. 

"Do you think Joel will find anything?" 

"We'll know in the morning." 

"It's almost morning now." 

"Did he ... I mean, you didn't ..." 

Jim felt the smile come easily, "Joel approached me, all on his own. He told me to tell you that the guys were all behind you and that they'd do anything to get you clear of this, okay?" 

"And what about Simon?" 

The smile faded, but he chose his words carefully, "Simon is worried about making sure the investigation is clean - so that when you're cleared, there's no doubt left to worry anybody." 

"He thinks I'm guilty, though." 

Jim shrugged, pulling into Prospect with a quick glance for police cars. "I think you had him scared for a while, yes. But it was his suggestion that Joel ... help me out - so I guess that means he knows you're innocent." He parked and went to open his door but Blair put a hand on his arm. 

"Jim? How did _you_ know?" 

And that was too close. Too close to what had happened between them tonight. Too close to the hurt and the accusations he'd thrown at himself. He couldn't look at Blair - even though he wanted to, even though, if he'd been a stronger man, he would have turned and told him the truth, all of it. So he kept his gaze on the steering wheel and shook his head, "I know you, Chief. I trust you." 

He got out of the truck then, locked the door and headed inside. Blair joined him in the elevator but had returned to his silent world, on his own. Jim would have liked to have joined him there. 

Continued in part four.


	4. Chapter 4

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## The Good Friend

by Jack Reuben Darcy

* * *

The Good Friend - Part four   
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

Jim knew he was never going to sleep now. Not after everything else that had happened - so he didn't bother trying. Tossing and turning in the bed upstairs was about the last thing he wanted to do. However, he also kept his thoughts away from what he _did_ want to do because that was impossible, totally impossible and he had to learn right now to do exactly that, to keep away from it, to work at repressing it in the short term, forgetting about it in the long term. 

So he had a shower. A long one. A long shower during which attempts at repression failed completely and where he tried to wash away the feel and smell of Blair coming in his hand, the taste of his skin and the memory of that one beautiful act, that one beautiful man in his arms, making such noises at his touch, revealing such need and being able, for once, being totally able to give in response and being proud of that, for once, being proud of giving rather than taking and learning that above all else, that's what he wanted to do. 

So he let his body remember, just once, let himself go back over those sensations, deliberately intensifying the moment, leaving out the unwanted parts - that he hadn't dared kiss the man, that he'd heard Nick's name batten against the air, a cry from within Blair that had nothing to do with love but everything to do with loss. 

His body paid no mind to reality. As the slick soap moved over his skin, he responded, closing his eyes and feeling once again that hard cock in his hand, brought his hand over his own and imagined, let the dream drift free, untethered by constraint for he was alone now, with nobody to witness what he kept fast in his heart. His body loved him for it. It gave to him what he'd missed before, filling in the details he'd not had time to notice, giving him an image of Blair with him, touching him and loving him and reaching into him where he belonged. 

He leaned back against the wall and plunged into the dream, his hands moving over his flesh, teasing and stroking, playing with the water. He was hard, so hard, so aroused from before, when fulfilment had been impossible so now he took it, his breathing stunting and stretching as the image grew and blossomed and Blair was so beautiful and wonderful and hurt and strong and Blair loved him, really did love him and what difference did it make if Blair never loved him like this, wasn't it worth it, in the long run, just to be with him? 

Was intimacy really so terrifying? So impossible? 

But to feel his hand there, on this cock, to want it, to feel that body press against his own, would that be so bad? So much to ask for? 

The scent of his own sex rose to him, joining that other memory when they _had_ been together and again, imagination stripped it of its cruelty and gave him some tiny shred of joy and he took that as well, took it and put it in his hand, took his cock and stroked hard and fast, enjoying it and striving towards it and taking it all into himself ... 

"Blair!" The word was mouthed and nothing more as his climax flooded through him, out of him and into his hand. Washed away by the shower, innocent and clean. 

By now he should have learned that repression only worked to the point where reality began to interfere. Judgement day always arrived soon after. 

* * *

Blair folded and flattened, tucked and placed clothes back in the drawers were they used to belong. He didn't really need to do it. Jim had put everything back for him already - but not where they usually went and although tidiness was not high on his usual list of priorities, it gave him something to do. He couldn't settle and read, couldn't bring himself to sleep - because that would mean lying down on his bed and that was a dangerous place for him right now. 

What was wrong with him? When had he become this person who would willingly trade friendship for some small moment of empty comfort? And although Jim hadn't wanted to do it, he had gone through with it, being there in the place Blair needed, touching him the way he needed to be touched ... 

Loving him. 

Blair sank down on to his chair and listened as the shower turned off, listened to the new silence within the empty loft, the silence which now stretched miles between them. 

He'd always been so sure of Jim's love. Never really had a moment's doubt about it for oh, a long, long time. Jim was the kind of man who had few close friends - but those he did have, he loved without question. Blair had been one of those for almost three years. 

"Hey Chief? I'm gonna make some pancakes. Want some?" 

"Sure." He caught a glimpse of Jim walking past his door on his way upstairs, towel around his waist, damp hair and muscle and then he was gone. Elusive Jim Ellison. 

Could they talk about this? Would Jim be willing to talk? Or had he already said everything he needed to say. 

_"I can't give you what you need..."_

But what did Blair need and how did Jim know what that was? 

He'd known last night, in bed. He'd known exactly what Blair had needed. 

Had he? 

Had Blair? 

Or ... had he needed more? More than feeling, more than sensation, more than comfort, more than closeness. 

"Syrup or fruit?" Jim was back, dressed now. In the kitchen, rattling mixing bowls and filling the coffee pot. 

"Have we got any fruit?" Blair's voice didn't sound anywhere near as dead as it felt. 

"I think so. Yep." 

"Both then." 

"Coming up." 

So why not go out there and help him? Why not go out there and talk to him? Why not go out there and prove to himself at least, that this friendship was more than one-sided? 

Or was that the exact problem? Was he only friends with Jim because Jim was friends with him? Or was his own fear-based response to blame for all that had gone wrong between them? 

He was a scientist - and understanding developed only through the gathering of data. But whereas his sentinel was a research subject, the same could not be said for his friend and obligation alone would not satisfy the needs of either of them. Duty and loyalty appeared to have boundaries that Jim at least, was not afraid to step over. 

Lead by example. A principal every officer had drilled into them. Lead by example and others will follow. Those who do not, _can_ not. 

He had everything to lose and not much to gain - except perhaps something that had gotten lost in the melee - his self-respect. 

And maybe ... the respect of his friend? 

All the lights were on in the kitchen. Dawn was just beginning to break, giving the darker living room a soft glow Blair had always liked. He stepped around Jim and pulled the bottle of juice out of the fridge, collecting plates and glasses on his way. Keeping himself busy, he set the table, making trips for sugar and lemon, coffee and syrup. He kept his focus on what he was doing, where he was - and the man he was with. He didn't waste more than a few moments with idle activity, however. No courage would stretch that far. 

"Jim, that night when you kissed me, had you ever felt that way before? 

A spoon clattered on the kitchen floor and Jim hissed a curse before he picked it up. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?" 

Blair swallowed at the sharpness in the tone. He kept his own as level as he could, placing things on the table, knives, forks, spoons. A mantra of activity. "No." 

"Now is really not a good time to ask." 

"We've got nothing else to do until Joel calls - and well, maybe we won't get another chance. I mean, if we don't find any evidence for this contract kill and I ... I ..." He had to work hard then, pushing the terror back down to a place where he couldn't see it with a casual glance. "If they send me to prison, any chance to talk will be ..." 

"You're _not_ going to prison!" 

Without pausing, Blair opened up and absorbed that, absorbed the vehemence issuing forth. He needed it - just as Jim needed to say it. He took his moment, then continued on, "So we talk about it anyway." 

He finished with the table and returned to the kitchen, placing a hand on the bench and studying Jim in profile. "Well?" 

"I suppose you think it's all your fault, don't you?" 

"What?" 

"That we're hardly talking to each other? That until you were arrested, we were pretty much a done deal?" 

"So ... all this is ..." 

"Temporary?" Jim spooned more mix into the pan and tilted it to get an even spread. "Your whole life is temporary. Why should I be any different?" 

"You think that I ..." 

"Your interrogation technique stinks, Chief." Jim flipped the pancake, his movements short and sharp. "Try not making so many assumptions. Try asking questions. You're supposed to be good at that, right?" 

"What's the point? You won't answer them." 

"Fine. You ask, I'll answer - whether I want to talk about this or not. Isn't that always the way with us?" 

"God, can't you stop pushing me away for one minute?" 

"And I'm the only one pushing, am I?" 

"What?" Blair pulled up short, frowning. 

"You heard me." Jim took the pancake and turned to put it in the oven with the others. He then poured more batter onto the pan and again tilted it, smoothing it over. "Whatever you want is not here. This sentinel project, me, the PD, Cascade, we're all just steps along the way with you. What you wanted was Nick - only you couldn't have him so your entire life went on hold while you worked out your next step. You kept going on and on about how you'd put three whole months into that relationship as though what you'd put into ours - what we'd _both_ put into it was hardly worth noticing. No, Chief, the truth is, I really don't want to talk about it - but I know you won't stop asking questions and maybe that's for the best. Maybe it's time we got it all out in the open and stopped kidding ourselves. So go ahead and ask - just be sure you want to know the truth because I for one am damned sick and tired of this whole fucking thing!" 

He'd known. Deep down inside, he'd known what would happen if he pushed \- and he'd been right. So he had no choice but to listen and absorb, just as he'd absorbed the hope, he now had to absorb the desperation and despair. 

And those other things that were there, the ones Jim hadn't used words to express. 

Terrified now, Blair took in a deep breath, "Jim? Are you in love with me?" 

_"God damn it!"_ Jim threw the pan across the room. "Why do you have to do that? Every single damn fucking time! Just leap to that conclusion without a single care what damage you do along the way! Is that what you did with Nick! Forced it? Made it happen because you just had to know? Is that the problem? That we're all too slow for you? Too dumb? Jesus Christ, Sandburg, for once, why can't you just ... just ..." 

Blair stepped forward, braving the danger, "Just what, Jim?" 

With a moan from hell, Jim grabbed his arms, held him still, met his gaze with eyes full of fury and tears, "Yes, I felt that way before but I never noticed it before and it had _never_ been so strong I couldn't resist it! Yes, I know you'll go in the end because I'm not what you want and there's _nothing_ I can do about it. Yes, I'm in love with you and yes, I can't bear the thought of losing you! Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?" With a final shake, Jim let him go and walked off, stalking up the stairs until silence once again fell over the loft. 

For a moment, Blair held on to the trembling inside him, held it steady and controlled - but then it took over, so strong that he had to lean against the bench for support or he would have slid to the ground. He wiped a hand over his eyes and felt moisture there, stared at it as though it would give up answers he wanted to hear instead of those he already had. 

But he had to move. Some _thing_ inside him made him move. He picked up the pan, cleaned up the mess, put things into the sink for later. Then he took out a plate, put pancakes from the oven on it, with fruit and syrup, sugar and all the trimmings. He took a fork in his other hand and headed for the stairs. 

"Go away!" 

He continued climbing until he reached the top. Jim was sitting on the other side of the bed, head in his hands. "Oh, the Great Blair Sandburg always knows what's best for other people, doesn't he?" 

Blair put the plate down on the side table and climbed across the bed until he was kneeling behind Jim. Carefully, knowing he would get a fight, he put his arms around the man. 

Jim tried to push him off. "Just leave me alone! I don't want your pity!" 

"Why not?" Blair replied softly, hardly knowing what he was doing here \- or why. "I accepted your pity last night." 

"That wasn't pity! That was ..." 

"What?" Blair settled against Jim's back, clasped his hands together around the man's chest. "Whether we're prepared to admit it or not, Jim, we do happen to need each other. We have a symbiotic relationship. You give, I take - I give, you take. Until recently, the balance was pretty much even." 

Jim didn't say anything but he didn't try to push Blair away. 

"You do know I love you, don't you?" 

"Sure." Jim's voice came out tired, dry and bitter. "We're best friends, aren't we? At least, we used to be." 

"Can we ..." Blair paused as Jim released the grip around him, turned until he could face Blair. 

"What?" 

"I ... I gotta tell you," Blair swallowed, felt his face reddening. He glanced down to where Jim's hands rested on the bed and suddenly he knew this wasn't such a good idea - being up here with Jim like this. It would be too easy to just give in, as he had done before, give in and take what should never be offered under these circumstances... 

But the truth was, he _did_ want it. 

Wanted Jim. 

Wanted those arms around him again, wanted to feel that again, just as he had last night. Wanted to make love to the man ... 

But at the moment, that's all he was sure of wanting. And that wasn't enough. Not this time. 

"I gotta tell you, well, that I never let myself think of you that way, you know? Because I believed you were straight and I knew it would complicate matters if I started lusting after you. I didn't want to put you in that position ..." 

"Wise move," Jim replied dryly. "It's not pleasant." 

Blair glanced up, some silly part of his face trying to smile under trying circumstances. "The point is, Jim, I don't know how I feel, okay? About Nick, about this case, about life in general and most of all, about you." He took a chance and reached up to touch the side of Jim's face. "I do know I don't want this to be such a mess. I just don't see how we can fix it." 

Jim closed his eyes in resignation and nodded, turning his face into Blair's hand and kissing his palm. 

Blair's heart did a quick thump, hard and harsh. He knew Jim heard it because the next moment, Jim had taken his hand, held it to his lips and kissed it again, letting his tongue linger, swiping a long moist line from fingers to wrist. 

"Oh, god," he whispered. 

Bad idea. Very bad idea coming up here to Jim's bed, being so raw and vulnerable and needy while Jim was in exactly the same condition, when Jim was pulling him close, pressing soft kisses against his throat, making him shudder with how strong that need was. 

"Oh, god," he whispered again, an admission he'd never wanted to utter, had worked so hard to avoid. Desire sprung up in flames hot enough to engulf him. Without a word, Jim pushed him down onto the bed, stretching out on top of him, taking both his hands and putting them above his head, so he couldn't move, couldn't escape and couldn't decide one way or the other what was the best thing right now, for both of them. 

Jim seemed unworried. He nuzzled Blair's ear, breathing deeply, shifting his body until Blair was only too aware of the desire which matched his own, a hard, heated urgency pressed against his. "I want to make love with you," Jim murmured, too busy with the reality to worry about the theory. "I want to make love with you right now. I wish I could be everything you need, for the rest of your life." 

_Oh god!_

And maybe Jim was right, maybe he did have to jump to that conclusion because the next words he uttered caught him by surprise. 

"Kiss me." 

Jim lifted his head and gazed down at him like a man waiting for execution. "Are you sure?" 

Blair gave him the gift of absolute truth. "No." 

A sudden knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Jim kept hold of him though, smiling a little. "That's Joel." 

"Then ... I guess we'd better ..." 

"Yes." Jim nodded slowly, "Yes, we'd better kiss now before it's too late." 

"Yes," Blair breathed and moved as Jim moved and their lips brushed together, sweet and intoxicating, tasting deep and dark, things only visible at night only it was morning now and it was even better, better than believing or trusting, better even than loving. He closed his eyes to memorize it, the feel of Jim lying on him, that mouth open to him, the gentle exploration that made him dizzy, the tongue seeking out his own, all too brief, all too little and perhaps, all too much. And then it was over. 

Joel knocked again and Jim turned his head, "Be right there, Joel!" 

He turned back to Blair then, caressing his face with sure fingers. "Can you do this, today, love? This isn't going to be easy." 

"Oh, Jesus, Jim," Those words brought tears to his eyes, opening so many old and ancient wounds that should never have seen the light of day again. "Just give me a minute, okay?" 

"Sure. Take your time." Jim touched Blair's forehead with another brief kiss then rolled to the side. He stood up, straightened his clothes and trotted down the stairs. 

The voice Blair heard him use with Joel was all too normal. The older man would never have known that the earth had just shattered in the moments between one knock on the door and the next. 

* * *

"Rafe wanted to come as well, but I said it was better if we kept this quiet. Besides, we've all been up all night and I figured some of us should get some sleep." 

"Wise move." Jim took the pile of files from Joel and set them down on the end of the table. He needed activity. Needed work. Anything in fact, to keep his mind off the idea of Blair upstairs, lying on his bed - and the fact that they'd just shared their first, real kiss. "We were just about to have an early breakfast. I'm afraid we haven't had a lot of sleep, either. Coffee and pancakes?" 

"Sounds great." 

Jim turned and headed into the kitchen. "Chief? You find that book up there after all?" 

Mr Obfuscation had obviously collected himself because he called down, his voice betraying the slightest hint of exasperation, "No, damn it! I thought you said you left it here." 

Jim was facing away from Joel so he could afford a smile. "Leave it for later. Your breakfast is getting cold." 

He heard feet on the stairs and turned around to find Blair coming towards him, mouth stuffed full of pancakes, a tiny gleam in his eye that had been missing for far too long. "I've got mine already, thanks." Without batting an eyelid, Blair sat at the table, murmured a hearty good morning to Joel and attacked his juice and coffee with such gusto, Jim was sure there's be indigestion pains later. 

Well, better those than some other pains. 

Christ, what a long night! Amazing what a little hope can do, injected into a dire situation. 

He brought the food to the table, told Joel to dig in then set about eating while he read through the files. He was on his second pancake when Blair interrupted, looking up from his own pile. 

"Jim? He lied." 

"How?" 

"This says here that Nick was born in Pasadena - but he told me he was born in LA. And this birthdate here makes him two years older than he told me. And ... and he said his father was still alive but here it says he only has a brother alive. He never mentioned a brother to me." 

Jim frowned, "Anything else?" 

"Yeah. All of it. It's all wrong. Every single detail." Blair looked up, that gleam all gone now. "Everything he said to me about his background \- all of it was lies!" 

"You know, Blair," Joel filled up their coffee mugs before pulling another file open, "there's something else you should be aware of. I did a check, just because, well, it struck me as being a little strange, the whole thing." 

"What did?" 

"The coroner's report noted internal injuries from two bullet wounds some years old. The scars were hidden by what looked like a tattoo that had been removed." 

"How old?" Blair asked. 

"How did you get to see the coroner's report, Joel?" Jim asked. 

"Well," Joel tilted his head, "The wounds were at least five years old \- and I had a minor accident with Detective Warner. Made the devil of a mess with the files he was carrying." 

Jim chuckled, "It was a good move getting you out of the bomb squad, Joel." 

"Any more of those pancakes left?" 

"Help yourself." 

Blair leaned forward, his voice betraying some vague hint of excitement, "Jim, I know about that tattoo mark. Nick said he'd had it done as a teenager, when he was running with a rough bunch in LA. And all these dates and details being so wrong and everything ... doesn't this sound a little strange to you? A little familiar?" 

"No, it sounds _very_ strange and all too-familiar. I'm going to call Simon." 

Jim got up and was on the way to the phone - when it rang. He snatched it up, "Ellison." 

"Jim?" 

"Simon, I was just going to call you. We need to talk." 

"Probably - but right now, I need you to bring Blair down to the station." 

An icy edge of foreboding gripped Jim's stomach and he took a good long breath before he replied, "Why?" 

"Because the Feds have just walked in and claimed ownership of the case and they want to question our suspect." 

Why did he get the feeling there was more? "And?" 

"And a search on Blair's office has turned up one of his shirts covered in Nicholas Lansdowne's blood. Unless you can tell me you're on your way now, the Feds are going to come to you - and they won't be nice about it." 

"Okay, okay. We're leaving now." 

He hung up, paused, then turned to face Blair. He knew already, as though he was the one suddenly delivered of sentinel senses. Jim could smell the fear from where he stood. He didn't linger over the moment, "The Feds are claiming jurisdiction and want to talk to you. And one of your shirts has been found with Nick's blood on it - at your office." 

Blair snapped his mouth shut, pushing his chair back so he could stand. "Well, that about wraps it up, doesn't it?" 

"Joel," Jim didn't pause, "I need you to contact Blair's friend at the University, Jack Kelso." 

"The CIA guy?" 

"That's the one. Tell him as much of the situation as you need to. Tell him Blair needs his help. Ask him to find out what he can about Nick Lansdowne, most of all, find out what his real name is and what he was doing before he came to Cascade. Can you do that on no sleep?" 

"Sure I can - now that I've had breakfast and some strong coffee." Joel came to his feet and turned to Blair. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this." 

The moment he was gone, Jim went over to Blair, wanting to hold him, but not daring to just yet. "You're not giving up, are you?" 

"The Feds only get involved in something like this if it's a witness protection thing." 

"Well, there are other circumstances." 

"Sure - but if you're right and it was a contract hit, then it all makes sense, doesn't it?" 

"Yes. So, having the Feds in is a good thing." 

"Really?" Blair looked up at him, not even a little mollified. "The evidence still all points to me - and now there's more of it. This isn't a good thing at all, Jim. And I thought I was in trouble yesterday." 

* * *

Jim was suspended. He knew it, Simon knew it - but neither of them said a word about it. Instead, they sat at the table in Simon's office and waited. The Feds had taken Blair into an interview room and shut the door. Not even Warner was allowed to observe. 

The waiting was killing Jim. Four hours so far and not a single word except a request for coffee. If this went on much longer, Jim knew his senses would start playing up - and without his guide around they would both be in a lot more trouble. 

"How was he last night?" Simon grunted, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the table. 

"Okay, I guess." 

"Really?" 

"No." 

"But he was okay this morning." 

"He's scared. Wouldn't you be?" 

Simon glanced aside at him. "You get much sleep?" 

"No." 

"I've got work to do." 

"I'm not stopping you." 

"No." 

Jim got up from the table and paced a few steps in front of the window. It was a grey day outside, the kind that usually left him with a headache. With any luck, it would rain later. The streets could do with a spring clean. 

When had he first noticed this terrifying need to protect Blair? It hadn't been immediate. Sure, he'd looked out for the man in those first few weeks they'd ridden together - but there hadn't been this... driving force inside him urging him along. That had come later, as the first bonds of their friendship had been formed. 

Blessed Protector. Blessed and cursed in his own way. 

"When did he tell you?" 

The question emerged from the silence, bringing Jim back from the grey void. "Tell me what?" 

"About his relationship with Lansdowne." 

"A few months ago, not long after it started." 

"And you were ... okay with it?" 

Jim smiled at the window. Looking back now, he knew he'd not been okay with it at all - but Simon didn't need to know that, didn't need to know why Jim understood it so much better now, after the fact. "Yes. Wasn't really my business." 

"No, I suppose not. But ... well, weren't you surprised?" 

"I guess. A little. But you can never really know everything about another person - even if you live in the same apartment." 

"But you're sure he didn't kill this guy?" 

"Yes." 

"Have you asked him?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"I'd never betray him like that." 

"And you _say_ you were okay with him going out with another guy." 

Jim turned slowly until his gaze met Simon's. There was something open and bland about those dark eyes, something a little ironic but not challenging. "You know," he stated flatly, no question, no hesitation. 

Simon shrugged, "Sure I know. It's _you_ not knowing that surprises me. Or has it taken all this for you to see it?" 

"No," Jim began - but didn't go any further. He'd been unable to define exactly what had happened between him and Blair this morning - and some part of him had resisted trying to. He had to force himself to remember that nothing had really changed, nothing concrete except that it seemed they had agreed to ... what? 

Support each other through this? 

Yeah, that was about it. 

Would that be enough? In the end? Could he, in the long run, be the friend he'd wanted to be at the outset and let Blair go if there was no chance for anything else? 

The terrible truth was, he didn't think he could. 

Whatever it was that had happened that morning had made them both feel good - even if only for a few minutes. To ask for more at a time like this was silly. To talk about it to Simon was impossible. 

"This isn't really a good time, Simon." 

"No problem." Simon waved a hand, "Just as long as you know." 

Jim turned back to the window. "Damn it, what can be taking so long!" 

"Jim?" 

"What?" He whirled around - but Simon wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was looking through to the bullpen where Joel was hurrying towards them, followed by Jack Kelso and another man Jim didn't recognize. He stormed to the door and pulled it open, ushering all three men in. 

Joel started off, "Sorry it took so long, Jim. This is Dustin Wayfield. He's a law professor at Rainier. He's offered to act for Blair." 

Jim shook the man's hand, "I sincerely hope you won't be needed - but I'm glad to see you." 

"My pleasure. How long has your partner been in with the Feds?" 

"Over four hours." 

"Time to get him out, I should think." 

"Please. Simon? Will you..." 

"On my way. Professor, follow me." 

Jim waited until the door was closed behind them before taking a seat and facing Jack. "It's good of you to help out. Please tell me you found something." 

The other man raised his eyebrows and pushed his glasses back. He reached into his chair bag and pulled out a file, placing it on the table but not pushing it towards Jim. "Something very interesting. You guessed correctly, Detective, Nicholas Lansdowne was under the witness protection scheme. His real name is Malcom Kremer. He was involved with the accountant with one of Boston's biggest crime figures. When the Feds were closing the net, Kremer was approached and offered protection in return for delivering evidence on his lover and various associates. He took the offer, the Feds put the man away for twenty years and Nicholas Lansdowne was born. He was relocated to Cascade, given a new name, identity and allowed to keep sufficient funds in order to start his import business." 

"Well," Jim leaned back in his chair, eyes dropping to the file. "That answers a lot of questions. So what went wrong?" 

"Lansdowne did. He couldn't keep his fingers out of the till. He started up a little sideline." 

"In what?" 

"I don't know. All I can tell you is that four weeks ago, information was received by the FBI that Lansdowne wasn't keeping to the deal and getting involved with illegal activities - a big no-no when you're a protected witness. Of course, an order was put in to check it out." 

"And?" 

Jack pushed the file towards him. "An agent by the name of Fredrick Holmes was sent in to get close to Lansdowne and find out what he was up to, preparatory to closing him down. Take a look at the file, Detective." 

Jim opened it. Before him was a photo, eight by ten. Close set brown eyes, dark, straight hair. 

He swore. 

"What?" Jack asked, glancing at Joel for clarification. 

Jim sprang to his feet, "I think this could be the man Blair saw at Nick's place. This bastard is a Fed! You think they're trying frame Blair to cover their tracks?" 

"I don't know. It all depends on what kind of illegal activities Lansdowne was involved in. I couldn't get any more information without making my presence known in the system. But bringing a case against the FBI would almost be impossible." 

"I have to tell Simon about this. We have to bring this guy in." 

"Detective, wait!" Jack held up his hand before Jim could go any further. "You can't use this as evidence. I can't tell you how I got it - and you sure can't go walking in there with this photo in your hand. There's no suggestion that Holmes was ordered to kill Lansdowne - only that he investigate. If Holmes is the killer, chances are he acted on his own. This just tells us who the bad guy is - you'll have to find a way to catch him yourself." 

Jim clenched his jaw - but there was enough here to be moving with and that was the best news he'd had all day. 

Well, okay, _almost_ the best news he'd had all day. 

"Can I take this photo? I want to show it to Blair. We need to be sure it's the same guy." 

"Yes, but don't let anybody else see it." 

"Right. Joel? Can you get Rafe and Brown to run through all Lansdowne's known associates for anyone with a record - or even an arrest. We need to know what it was the man was up to. At a guess, I'd say he was importing something illegal. Considering most of his goods came from Africa, we could be looking at drugs, gold or diamonds - though diamonds are the most logical choice." 

"Why diamonds?" 

"Smaller, lighter and the sniffer dogs can't find them. Then I suggest you go home and get some sleep. Jack, I can't thank you enough for this \- but it might be a good idea if you make a quick exit in case our federal buddies see you." 

A short knock at the door and Rhonda popped her head in. "Jim? Simon has taken Blair to the conference room. He said for you to join them when you're ready." 

"Thanks." 

"And Jim? If there's anything I can do?" 

"Yeah," Jim could afford a smile. "Could you make sure Jack gets out of the building safely and into a taxi without meeting up with our guests? And ..." 

"What?" 

"I sent some samples down to the lab. Serena said she'd rush them through for me." 

Rhonda nodded, "I'll see how she's going." 

Jim shook Jack's hand. "I'll be in touch." 

"Soon, I hope." 

* * *

Blair paced. It was about the only exercise of freedom he had at the moment - and even so it was curtailed. But at least he could do it near the conference room window and try to lull his subconscious into thinking there was a world out there he could return to any time he chose. 

His head ached. His throat ached from talking so much, from repeating the same answers over and over. His eyes ached from having to look at that dumb bastard across the table from him and his gut ached, knowing, just knowing they were going to pin this on him regardless of what he said, what he did, even what Jim did. 

It was just damned good timing that Jim no longer needed a guide with him any more. At least if he did go away, he'd know that Jim would be able to keep operating with his senses. 

Naomi would be shattered, though. And she'd probably blame Jim and Simon. He'd have to write her a letter. Tonight. Something that explained how and when ... and Jeez, she didn't even know about Nick or anything and ... 

He should have just killed Nick in the first place. At least that way he'd be going to prison for doing something wrong - instead of simply being involved with the wrong person. 

Where did it end, this web of lies and betrayal? And why had he been so blind to it all in the first place? God, even Patrick had felt Nick couldn't be trusted. So, had he deliberately shut his eyes to it all? Had he wanted something lasting so much that he'd shut his eyes and ears to the subtleties others had picked up - because, if that were the case, then he really _couldn't_ trust himself, couldn't trust his own wants and desires, his own instincts - for they, it seemed, were betraying him as well. 

Hope had forced its way past good sense - and here he was, paying for it. 

He only stopped pacing when the door opened. He turned, ignoring Simon and Dunstin sitting at the table - and focussed solely on the man who strode towards him with defiance in his eyes. As though the others in the room didn't exist, Jim just kept coming until he could take Blair in his arms. 

His soul leaped at the touch and the close confines of a warm human who cared, really did care what happened to him and he held on, using that warmth to break the ice of interrogation a little. No matter what else happened, he couldn't deny that this felt good. 

It was a little he could hold onto. Just a little. Something small and fragile in the tumbling waste of his shattered self. If there was only one reality he could keep constant, he would want it to be Jim. 

He knew he was shaking and hoped that Jim would know it was from anger rather than fear. But Jim kept his silence, simply holding him and letting him regain his balance, whatever balance he could. And slowly, the shaking stopped and Blair looked up, an apology ready for the others - but they were alone, door closed, the world shut out for a moment. 

Jim let go a little and looked down at him. For a brief moment, he saw something of anger in Jim's eyes - but then it was gone. Jim shook his head a little then leaned down and kissed him once, soft and gentle. Just once. 

Blair frowned, something inside him rebelling, "Jim, I ..." 

"Don't worry about it, Chief." Jim tried to smile a little. "That wasn't for you - it was for me, okay?" 

Yeah, it was okay - so Blair smiled in reply, feeling the movement sharp in contrast to what he was feeling. "I can live with that." 

"How did it go?" 

"Huh." Blair steadied himself with a sharp breath and stood back, needing some space, needing for reasons he didn't have time to think about now, to have that space, now, with all these other things going on. It seemed Jim understood and made no move, no gesture to stop him. "They've pretty much decided I'm guilty. They pulled out every little detail about my relationship with Nick and turned it into some disgusting thing a rat would be ashamed of. Things like how many times a week did I sleep with him and whether we were into anything kinky - or illegal. Some of the things they said made me want to throw up - but you know what?" 

"What?" 

"It was almost fun playing the game with them. It's amazing how easy it is when you know you're telling the truth." 

"Maybe we should see what your lawyer friend says about it all." Jim went to the door and called Simon and Wayfield back in. Once they were all seated, Blair turned to Dunstin. 

"Well? How bad is it?" 

Wayfield was a heavy set man with eyebrows grown grey and bushy with age, lending his face a serious and determined aspect in keeping with his business here. He puffed his cheeks a little, eyeing the file he held in his hands. "The evidence is mostly circumstantial - and although the shirt has the victim's blood on it, it has no skin cells on it apart from that - which means it was a clean-washed shirt, no doubt taken from that bag just before Nick gave it to you. All the other evidence I've seen can be argued in court along the same lines. I think there could be enough framework to place a reasonable doubt in the minds of a jury." 

"What framework?" Blair glanced at Jim and waited for his answer. 

Wayfield pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. "For a start, the record of your fingerprints is explainable considering your relationship with Nick. So far they've been unable to locate the taxi that took you home - but even if they did, it doesn't prove you didn't kill Nick before you left. We could have some trouble for Detective Ellison however, in that because he was the one who took you back to get your car the next day, there's a possibility they might try to charge him as an accessory." 

"Oh, great!" Simon said this, slapping his hand on the table. 

"Don't get too excited, Captain." Wayfield looked up over his glasses. "If the FBI believed that there was any kind of intimate relationship between Detective Ellison and Blair, they would try to pin the murder on both of them." 

"With what motive?" Blair bounded to his feet. "God, Jim was working that night!" 

"And spent more than two hours on his own. It only took about three minutes to kill Lansdowne, Blair. They'd reason that Jim could have arrived minutes after you - saw the two of you together and killed him, threatening you to keep your silence." 

"But ..." 

"Chief?" Jim reached out a hand and caught Blair's arm, gently urging him to sit back down. "He says that's not going to happen, okay? Let's focus on what we've got." 

"Right, right, okay. Sorry. Go on." He bluffed it, made it look like he was calm - but only because he knew there was more and it was going to be worse. But hell, he'd destroyed his dissertation - three years' work - in order to protect Jim. The last thing he needed now was to have the man up on charges of his own! 

Jesus ... Not that. No way. No, he'd confess before he'd let that happen. 

Wayfield picked up where he'd left off, "You have some things in your favour - your exemplary record here and the simple fact that, after spending three years working with the PD, you'd be a lot more clever about hiding a murder if you chose to commit one." 

"I should hope so," Blair snorted - though he didn't feel the joke inside. 

"I don't want to get your hopes up, Blair. They do have a case - it's just not air-tight. And the bad news is," Wayfield sighed, "that the Feds are handing the case back to IA. They're satisfied that Blair had no connection to Lansdowne's prior identity and that it was indeed, a crime of passion." 

"Why is that bad news?" Blair murmured. 

"Legal-speak for throwing you to the wolves," Simon supplied. "It means they're not looking for another killer, either. The investigation, for what it's worth, is over." 

"Great." Blair tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Anything else I should know about?" 

"Yes. They'll push for an early trial." 

"Any particular reason why?" 

Jim answered for the lawyer. "They have something to hide." 

Blair sat there as Jim related, in a cold, hard voice, all the facts, harsh and brutal. Nick and Boston, his real name, his real business, his real ... whatever. 

Real. Relatively speaking. 

And he watched Jim's face, watched the play of light across those eyes and wondered how it had happened that they had ever met up, how fate had thrown them onto the same path, travelling in much the same direction. An insatiable curiosity on one part and a desperate need on the other. It seemed ridiculous to think that something so incongruous could possibly have had so many deep and horrifying repercussions. 

And oh, how Nick had lied. And gone on lying. Had there been a single word of truth spoken in that entire three months? Could he even believe the tender words spoken with affection, the passion, the man's response to love-making? 

No. Never call it that again. 

Sex. That's what it had been. That's all Nick had seen it as - and Blair couldn't stomach any other term any more. 

And when he was done talking, when Jim had finished unwittingly tearing to shreds the last remnants of his self-respect, he took a photo out of his pocket and held it up so only Blair could see. 

He did see. All too clearly. Only now when it was well and truly too late, did he finally get it. 

He took his gaze away from the photo and got to his feet. The window beckoned him, drawing him closer until he pressed his forehead against it, his palms flat on either side. He could see down to the street, cars, buses and people. People who were just as fooled as he'd been - only they didn't know it yet. 

His voice came out sounding quite normal. Blair Sandburg, trained observer and experienced police consultant. He was good at impersonation. "Nick was importing something illegal through his business. The FBI sent in Holmes to investigate. Holmes killed him and used me as cover. Now they've got evidence to convict me, they're happy to step back and leave IA to do it. On the bright side, the Feds won't want to talk to me again." 

"Chief, I don't think the Feds have any idea about Holme's involvement with the murder - that's why they grilled you for four hours." 

"Yes, I suppose so." He was tired. He needed some sleep. About two years' worth. "But then again, we can't prove Holmes was there. We can't prove he put that bloody shirt in my office and we can't prove he picked up that lamp and cracked Nick's head open. In fact, we can't actually prove anything, can we?" 

It was odd the way science and police work operated from opposite ends of the reasoning spectrum. In his academic life, he'd been taught to form a hypothesis and then to gather evidence to support it. His life's work, his dissertation had been exactly that. In police work however, the evidence was gathered first - and the conclusion drawn later. Only problem was that by the time the conclusion was drawn, there was no arguing the evidence. 

So what was he, a scientist, doing in this police world? 

"Simon," Jim's voice floated to him, reminding him that there were other people here, other people who had put their reputations on the line, people he could trust, it seemed. Only now, as ungenerous as that sounded, trust seemed an awfully empty word. 

He was glad they were here, regardless of how empty he felt. 

Jim continued, "I need to go back to work." 

"I'm not sure I like the sound of this." 

"I need to get a look at ... Nick's house." 

Blair frowned. Hadn't they done that last night? Hadn't they found ... 

"And what am I going to tell Warner?" 

"If he's got all the evidence he needs to convict Blair, why should he object? Make something up, Simon. I need a legitimate reason to go and take a look." 

Ah, so he can 'discover' the blood specks in glaring daylight and maybe a shirt with gun oil on it? Fine. Good, in fact. What else? 

What else? 

Blood specks would only show a type - not a specific identity. They could only get that from DNA testing - and Holmes would deny them a sample \- with every right. So? What else? Nobody had seen him put Blair's shirt in the office. The rest of the evidence was very real. His fingerprints all over Nick's things, his self all over Nick's house. He'd been there, he'd talked to the man - and even though he could pick Holmes out of a line-up - why should the agent submit himself to it in the first place? The police had to have probable cause to pull something like that. 

So ... what else? 

Trouble was, it was sickeningly obvious - and he was sickened. He only hoped Simon - and Jim would understand. 

He let his hands slide down the glass and he turned back to the others, his face impassive he knew, because he'd lost touch with whatever it was inside him that drew facial expression. "Dunstin, I want to thank you for coming down. It was very good of you and I really appreciate your help. Please, thank Patrick as well for me, will you? It was great of him to speak to the Dean for me." 

Dunstin picked up his file and shook Blair's hand. "Let me know what happens today. I'll get in touch with Warner and get the rest of the case files from him. If this does go to court, I'll get my entire legal class to work on it if you don't mind." 

"No, no, not at all, man. Glad to be of some use." 

"I'll call you later." 

Blair nodded and watched the older man leave. He and the law professor had had more than a few outright arguments at Patrick's place over the last couple of years - and the truth was, he'd never really considered them friends. Or perhaps, his criteria for friendship was much more narrow than Dunstin's. 

You live and learn. 

Once the door was closed, he turned to Jim. "What do you mean, you want to go back to work?" 

"Jim's on suspension," Simon replied, taking the heat. "We had something of a disagreement over procedure yesterday. However, today, I'm in agreement with him so, yes, he's back at work." 

But Blair hadn't taken his eyes off Jim. "You didn't tell me." 

"I guess I forgot." Jim shrugged, "Does it matter?" 

"No." Matter? Sure, why not? Friends told each other stuff. Important stuff. Like I'm bi and hey, I got suspended today because you've been arrested and yeah, a lot of this shit is because I love you and no, that's okay if you don't love me back because I can live with that and no, I don't mind the possibility that I might get charged as an accessory because I'm your Blessed Protector and maybe they'll let us share a cell, huh? And if I can get you out of this, we can go back to normal, can't we, and maybe you'll love me because I did all this for you ... 

"Chief?" 

Blair sank his teeth into his tongue until the sharp pain stopped him. Self pity wasn't the prettiest thing even when only viewed from the inside. He had no right to think any of that - none at all. But knowing that didn't make him feel any better. 

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said, nodding, moving back to the table and taking a seat at the end of it. He laced his fingers together and lifted his face, letting them see how calm he was, letting them know that as far as things went, he was in control. It would be interesting to see who was the most fooled. "I take it we can't use any of the information Jack got for us?" 

"No. But that doesn't mean we can't go chasing after it, ourselves." Jim replied with a faint smile, as though he knew what Blair was thinking. 

"Can we do that?" 

Simon grunted, "Like we have a choice. Like _I_ have a choice. Half of Major Crimes is already involved." 

As though those words had been prophetic, a quiet knock on the door heralded the arrival of Rhonda with a file in her hands for Jim. She gave Blair an encouraging smile and left. 

He'd never had an encouraging smile directed at him before. Normally, it was him giving them out. Odd to be on the receiving end for a change. 

"Yes!" 

Jim's hiss drew him back to the business at hand and he took a good look a the file Jim slid across to him. Jim's finger pointed out two important pieces of information. Yes, there had been two blood types in the bathroom and ... 

"Simon, you _have_ to get Warner to let me into the crime scene." Jim got to his feet, prowling the room like the caged panther he was. "Nick was involved with diamond smuggling. He was using a well known fence in Seattle. We'll have to get the local boys to pick him up. We've got records of dozens of phone calls over the last year, coming in three-monthly bursts. At a guess, I'd say that's when the shipments came in. By the look of it, the last would have been ..." 

"Just before he died," Blair finished, slapping the file shut with something akin to satisfaction. Well, it made a difference when there was some actual physical evidence backing up your protestations of innocence. "Holmes killed Nick, took the diamonds and blamed it on me. Very, very neat." 

"You think you can find something to connect this Holmes to the scene?" Simon said, "Something strong enough to counteract the evidence against Blair? The man's a professional - he didn't even leave a fingerprint. Any other evidence we can gather on him would be so circumstantial, Warner would laugh in our faces." 

Jim shook his head, "Then we'll have to set him up." 

"Set up who?" Simon was frowning in confusion. "Warner or Holmes?" 

"Holmes. But how we go about it is ..." 

"Jim?" Blair stared down at this hands - largely because he could feel the sudden thumping of his heart in his chest and he didn't dare let them see he was walking so close to the edge. 

"What?" 

"Did you ever tell Simon what I wanted to talk to you about yesterday? When he came to pick me up?" 

"No. Why?" Jim spoke with a kind of pale confusion, forcing Blair to take a deep breath. 

"Well," he turned to Simon then, meeting the man's gaze as openly as he could. "I'm sorry, Simon - I didn't want to get Jim into trouble and he only did it because he thought he was doing the right thing." 

Jim came around the table and sat down again, frowning now in complete bafflement. But it was Simon who asked the question - largely because Jim must have thought he knew the answer. 

He didn't. 

"Okay, out with it." 

"Well, two days before Nick and I split up, he got some new stuff delivered from South Africa. I thought a couple of the statues were worth more than he'd paid for them. He hadn't really unpacked them properly so when he wasn't looking, I took them, planning to get them valued at Rainier and give them back to him as a surprise." 

"Two days? Why didn't you ... Oh, shit, Sandburg! You're not telling me you ..." 

"I still had them." Blair continued as though he were giving Simon a round up of his day teaching. "I knew they'd look pretty incriminating if the loft was searched, so I asked Jim to hide them somewhere safe. I don't know what I was going to do with them afterwards but ..." 

"Chief?" 

"But if you can find a way to let the FBI know about them, then hopefully, Holmes will come after them, believing there to be more diamonds in them." 

"But why would he?" 

"Because we've now got all this evidence. Nick's connections - anything Jim can find at the scene to prove somebody other than me was there. It's enough to make the FBI wonder if they _do_ have a rat in the woodwork. If I come out and say there's these two _new_ statues in amongst the latest shipment and Nick didn't know I'd taken them, then Holmes will _have_ to come after them to cover his tracks. If we place enough doubt in the minds of the FBI, _they'll_ be the ones gunning for him - we won't need to do a thing." 

"Chief?" Blair turned then and saw Jim's eyes on him. He couldn't deal with that right away however. Instead, he continued, "I know it looks like Jim was concealing evidence pertaining to an investigation, but he didn't know what they were. I just said they belonged to the university and that I didn't want them found. I didn't want anybody getting the wrong idea. Jim believed me because ... because he trusts me. I'm sorry, man. I really am. I didn't know Nick was ... well, that all this ..." 

Jim's gaze might have been hard - or it might not have been. It was impossible to tell. 

Simon groaned and climbed to his feet. He took out a cigar and stuck it between his teeth. "So you want to set this up so Holmes goes after the statues, right?" 

"Well, it seems like ..." 

"Yes." Jim nodded and turned to his captain. "Can you do it?" 

"That depends. Where did you hide them?" 

Jim blinked a minute. "I put them in a box and sent them in a taxi to Stephen's office with strict instructions that he was to put them in his safe and give them to nobody but me." 

"Right. So we'll have to give Holmes the night to retrieve them." Simon was nodding. "It'll be tight - since there'll be moves to get a search warrant. And, if Holmes doesn't come after them, they'll only add to the evidence against you." 

"I know that." Blair nodded. What did it matter? The statues were a figment of his imagination anyway. It was more important to keep the blame firmly away from Jim. "Can you do it?" 

"I think so." 

Jim nodded approval. "Let Warner in on it - but only at the last moment. I don't want any interference." 

"Yeah, yeah. Just catch the bastard, okay?" 

"I'll do my best." 

"Fine." With that, Simon turned and left, obviously none too happy with anything he'd heard in the last hour. 

"Chief?" Jim said the moment the door was closed. "You've got some explaining to do." 

"Yeah," Blair nodded, not looking at him. "But can we do it outside?" 

* * *

The promised rain had come and gone sometime between the morning and afternoon. The pavement was still damp underfoot, the air still singed with faint traces of ozone. Jim had tried to make it a habit to go out and enjoy the clean air for the first few minutes after rain stopped \- but he'd not had much of a chance to do anything like that for the last weeks. 

He tried to buy Blair a hotdog in the park, but the younger man just shook his head, pushed hands into his jacket pockets and waited for Jim to get one for himself. Then they wandered to their usual table and even though the wood was damp, Blair sat on the bench seat, facing the park. Jim stood beside him, eating in silence until he could throw the trash away. He cleaned his fingers and regarded Blair steadily. 

"You were thinking about those two statues that used to be on the mantle at Nick's weren't you?" 

"Holmes probably already has them - but he won't know that. I doubt he'd have had time to check the manifest to see if he had everything he needed." Blair leaned back against the table and shrugged, his blue eyes as grey as the sky. "It seemed the most logical thing to do. Why, did you have a better idea?" 

"No, but you didn't exactly give me a lot of time to come up with one." 

"Time is something I don't have a lot of at the moment." 

This was not the man who had withdrawn yesterday in response to a series of disasters in his otherwise-peaceful life. This wasn't even the fighter who had helped Jim out so many times in so many ways. This man seated before him was hard, grim and determined - and Jim could only just recognize him. 

Jim took a seat beside Blair, deliberately sitting close enough so his shoulder pressed lightly against the other man's. It wasn't intrusive \- just meant as a reminder that he wasn't alone. 

The gesture appeared to have no affect. 

"You okay?" 

"Fine. You?" 

"Fine." 

"You going to call Stephen and warn him?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"He'll probably find some excuse to be there. I don't want any more bodies to worry about than absolutely necessary." 

"Okay." 

Grim, determined - and way too quiet. Not even a question about tonight. Nothing. It was as though Blair had bricked himself in and wasn't letting anybody near, as though he needed to do this in order to keep breathing. 

As though this morning had never happened. 

A small part of Jim was hurt - but he could understand it. Blair had been running along the edge for too long now. So many things going wrong and then more wrong and now his entire life was hanging by a single thread. This was survival mode - and Jim knew all about that. 

But that was the problem - he _did_ know and he knew that Blair had a better chance of surviving if they worked through this together, if they leaned on each other as they always had in the past. What had Blair called it? A symbiotic relationship? 

Give and take, take and give. And perhaps ... perhaps this morning he had taken more than his share. Perhaps what he needed to do now was give a little in return, a little space. 

He sighed and stretched out his legs. "I suppose Simon's spoken to Warner by now, about me going over the crime scene. I'll do it on my own - I can't see Warner being too happy about you going in there." 

"No, I suppose not. Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm really sorry you had to do that. I mean, going through Nick's stuff, his bedroom and everything. It must have been ... well ... awkward." 

Jim was shocked to find his face reddening a little - but Blair wasn't looking at him so he could afford to glance away and hide it. "A little." 

"The master of understatement." Blair shifted a little, drawing his jacket closer at the front, warding off the cold afternoon. "I think maybe it would be a good idea to call Stephen and warn him - he could put something in the safe to make it look like this box of statues." 

"He won't need to." 

"Jim, if Holmes manages to get past you, if he gets the safe open he'll find ..." 

"All your sentinel research." 

"What?" Blair bounded to his feet, spinning to face Jim, his eyes wide in shock. "You ... you ..." 

Jim shrugged, "How could I just destroy it, Chief? That's three years of your life - three years of _my_ life. I couldn't just throw it all away on some chance." 

Blair shut his mouth, turned away and said nothing for a moment - but Jim could hear that heartbeat - and it was pounding. Eventually, a grated voice came to him, "I don't fucking believe you, man! The FBI get a search warrant and Holmes fails to turn up on schedule and everything about your senses will be in their hands! Damn it, Jim!" Blair turned around, his eyes as cold as the day. "I _told_ you to destroy it. You promised me you would!" 

Jim got to his feet, facing Blair's fury with calm - even though inside, there were things shaking at this, shaking that Blair's reaction was so strong. He'd hoped to give the man something good to think about, something positive - some shred of his former life to hold onto. "I figured it was just as easy to send it to Stephen as it was to destroy it. If I'd burned your journals, it would have taken hours - and they would have found the ashes in the fireplace when they came to search - assuming I could have finished by then." 

"Then why give Simon the real location?" 

"Because the moment the Feds knew I'd sent something out of the loft, they would have checked up. They would have found the taxi driver and the address - and I would have implicated my own brother in it. Stephen really doesn't know what's in the box - and I want it to stay that way. If I get him to move it now, he'll be implicated." 

"I can't believe you're doing this." Blair stared at him, shaking his head, backing away. "I can't believe I am. I ... I just ... this is just ..." He was breathing hard now, chest heaving with the effort. 

Jim tried to reach out but Blair slapped his hands away. 

"Don't!" He snapped, a myriad of expressions flitting across his face. Disgust, horror, fury and self-loathing. He looked up at Jim with eyes of daggers. "I trusted you, man. You promised to destroy my research and you lied. I don't care why you did it - you gave me a promise and you went back on it. I was _trying_ to protect you and now ... now ... you ... Just stay away from me, okay? _Just stay away!_ " 

With that, Blair turned and walked off, leaving Jim alone in the park. 

* * *

Easy. 

Easy and deft. 

Even after all these years, it was easy to do this. Easy to push back, to hurt, to think about hurting. Easy to live with it, easy to roll with it, easy to incorporate it into a larger life. 

So very easy. 

It took years for some people to get the idea. Others never got it. But he did. He understood, totally, thoroughly and completely. 

There was no such thing as trust. There was only hope. The difference between certainty and possibility. To trust meant to know where knowing was impractical. How could one really know what was in a man's heart? 

Had he known what was in Nick's heart? No. He'd trusted and been wrong. He thought he'd known but he'd only hoped. Hoped that the man he made love to, the man he welcomed into his arms actually felt something beyond simple physical desire. He'd hoped and wanted and felt and trusted. In the end, he'd known nothing at all. Not even the man's real name. For three months, he'd held a lie in his arms. 

For three years, he'd lived a lie. 

Jim Ellison, a man for whom loyalty and honour were second nature. A man who protected those dear to him with his own life. A man who asked so little and yet demanded so much. A man who would take from him and never give back what was needed, would only ever get close to it, would only ever need in return. 

All of it was a lie. 

And did he know now, why it was that Nick had dumped him? Even with all that he knew now about that stranger - did he at least have an answer? Was he any closer to easing the pain of rejection? No. And now he would never know. Nick had died with the knowledge still within him. 

But Blair could guess. Blair could poke at the thing, make it hurt more. He could assume all the ills of the world and take them onto his own shoulders - for what choice did he have? Nick had dumped him because he wasn't good enough, wasn't interesting or enticing or exciting enough to last longer than three months. Good enough to chase after, yes. Good enough to have sex with, certainly - but not good enough to trust, to love, to keep. 

And if it had been just one man's opinion, it wouldn't have mattered as much. But for all Jim's insistence, there was as little trust between them as there would be between complete strangers. 

Sure, Jim had saved the research because he wanted Blair to keep it, didn't want him to lose something so important - but Jim _hadn't_ trusted Blair enough to believe he wanted it destroyed. And he did. Now more than ever. He wanted it destroyed before it could destroy Jim. Christ, already every part of his private life had been laid open to the Feds \- how much more investigating would they have to do to find out that his thesis had nothing to do with closed societies? 

Damn him! 

Naomi had taught him - and taught him well. Trust was the key to successful relationships. Without it, there was no future. There as only that dark centre to being alone - even when there were people around. 

But not even Naomi trusted him. She who constantly second-guessed him, claimed to know him better than he knew himself, still, after all her claims to the contrary, wanted him to fit whatever image she had of the perfect son. 

Time was revealing. Within and of itself, clasped in hands no longer chained by blindness. It simply wasn't safe to trust. 

* * *

The building was quiet by the time he got there. The cloudy sky hid whatever sun had risen that day and now hid it as it worked its way west. It would be dark all too soon. Would Jim come back for him? Would Jim want him there, at the end? 

Blair let himself into the loft with a key that seemed permanent in his pocket, as though a magic hand kept returning it there no matter how many times he threw it away. He placed it on the table as he walked past, his flat palm urging it to stay put. He went to the bathroom first, washed up, combed his hair and pulled it back. 

He returned to his room and changed his shirt and shoes, putting on something that was dark and comfortable. He then chose a jacket from the hooks by the door. Something bulky and warm, dark coloured with the necessary big pockets. Then, after a moment's careful listening - he climbed the stairs to Jim's room. 

He knew where it was, of course. He also knew how to clean and load it. Jim had insisted on showing him after that incident with David Lash. 

So ... it was just an ... incident now, was it? 

Okay, so it wasn't just an anything - but Jim had been so wired after that, he'd shown Blair where he kept his backup gun, showed him where the bullets where, showed him how to fire it. Blair had tried to argue for the first few minutes but even he had seen the wisdom of at least having the knowledge. Nobody now expected him to carry a gun - though he'd had to shoot one on a couple of occasions since - but here, if the situation ever arose, he knew he had some line of defence. 

He sat on the bed to do it. He pulled open the second drawer down and took out the leather case. Unzipping it, he extracted the weapon and felt the cold hard weight in his hand. He then reached under the bed and pulled out a cardboard box. He popped the clip, refilled it from the spare shells and pushed the clip back into place. He heard the snip with satisfaction. 

Putting things back where he found them, he stood, straightened the bed and went downstairs again. He collected his dictation recorder and put that in one pocket. The gun he slipped into a plastic bag and put into his other pocket. Then, to steady his hands, he drank half the remaining apple juice in the fridge and stood there listening to the lift rise through the building. 

He was okay at waiting now. It had taken years to perfect it, but he had it good. Time slipped into gear as he heard a key in the lock, watched the door open and Jim's solid frame enter. Pale blue eyes glanced about \- then locked on him. 

"I called. You didn't answer." 

"Only been back ten minutes." 

"It's all set up. I finished at Nick's house. Serena has some new samples and a shirt I think has gun oil on it and everything's ready at ..." Jim paused, shrugging a little. "Chief, I ... I don't want you to think that ..." 

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Blair walked up to him, stood very close. "But that's the problem, isn't it? You _don't_ want me to think - but you knew I would. That didn't stop you from lying to me, that won't stop you from doing it again." 

"That's not what ..." 

"What happened?" Blair pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling his weapons and taking strength from them. He needed it. "Are you honestly going to tell me that when you made that promise, you had every intention of keeping it?" 

Flinty blue eyes blinked twice. "No." 

He should leave it at that. He should just head out the door and leave it at that, but there was something else sitting within him, some other shred that required expression. "Do you think I can trust you?" 

Jim didn't answer - and that shred grew. Blair took a step closer, lifted his head and touched a kiss to Jim's lips. A cold kiss, one of death. He placed his gaze back into Jim's and repeated, "Do you think I can trust you? When you say you love me, do you have any idea what that means? Do you have any idea how much it will cost you to love me?" 

"I do love you." 

"Yes." Blair murmured, stepping back. "And that's why I can't trust you." 

"Blair ... I ... " Jim swallowed, glanced down at his feet. "I didn't mean it to happen this way. I know I can't take it back but ... we could have worked it out ... found some way to stay friends ... " 

"You were just trying to help, right?" 

Jim just shrugged - an admission filling his shoulders. 

Blair turned and put the apple juice away, closing the fridge with a finality he wished he really felt. "You taught me a lot about friendship. A lot about respect and identity. But I remember reading once that being in love is when you like who you are when you're with a person. I don't think we'll ever be in love with each other, Jim. And to be honest, I don't think you love me anywhere near as much as you think you do." 

He rinsed his glass out and placed it by the basin. He turned then, found Jim's gaze on him and shook his head. "Are we going?" 

"Yeah," Jim nodded, defeat in every line of his body. "Why not?" 

* * *

It wasn't like he hadn't expected it. It was just that he hadn't thought about it. 

So many times he'd accused Blair of thinking too much, of working a problem so hard that it started to wear thin. He'd never considered that he relied so heavily on Blair doing that kind of thinking that he'd somehow lost the habit of doing it himself. But he hadn't thought about it - certainly not enough. 

But would thinking about it have stopped him from taking that first step, from taking those kisses that hadn't belonged to him? Would any amount of contemplation have revealed to him the pit he was about to fall into? 

He should have known the man well enough to guess what his reaction would be. The action was akin to rape in that he hadn't given Blair a choice, one way or the other. He'd simply assumed that because Blair was bi, it wouldn't bother him. It had simply never occurred to him that such a small thing would be exposed as a breach of trust. 

Nor that one breech would lead to another and another. What he'd wanted in the beginning was so far removed from how he felt now, it was getting hard to remember. He thought he'd tried hard to do what was right - but really, he'd just been acting on instinct, hoping it would be right in the end. For some reason, he'd trusted that Blair would know, Blair would understand - that Blair would make sense of it and clear away the confusion for both of them. 

It had never occurred to him that he would only make it worse. It had never occurred to him because he hadn't thought about it. He'd only thought about what he was feeling and whether Blair would feel that way too. 

Blair accused him of not trusting - but the truth was, he'd trusted too much. Trusted somebody other than himself. 

And now he was paying for it. 

Paying with silence. Blair sat beside him in the truck, saying nothing. There were no gifts of enlightenment his senses could hand him, either. No raised pulse, no hitched breathing pattern, no scent of fear. Blair was a blank now, forcing him to reach for other signs, other ways to predict what he was feeling. But to pursue those other paths, he had to think about them, think hard, delve into all he knew about his partner, his best friend. And he had to do this because if he didn't, he'd lose this man forever. 

The idea was simply unthinkable. Even though there was no relationship, couldn't be, though he could never give Blair what he needed, wasn't there still room for him to be the good friend? Some place where he could give that much without having to risk the intimacy of something more? Couldn't they do that much? 

The carpark was almost empty by the time he pulled in, hiding the truck behind a utility shed where there was no light. Darkness was still a few minutes away so he took a moment to check in with Simon, making sure that all the employees were out and that the stake-out team hadn't seen anyone of Holmes's description enter the building yet. They were all there: Rafe, Brown, Taggert. Warner was due to arrive any minute. 

Jim turned to Blair, "If I ask you to stay in the truck, are you going to?" 

In answer, Blair simply got out. Sighing, Jim climbed down as well and headed towards the building. The company Stephen worked for had built this place last year, equipping it with the latest technologies for security \- but Jim knew that no technology, no matter how smart, could keep a single man out if he really wanted to get in. 

They entered via a back door. The security guard checked their IDs then directed them to the stairs. Stephen's office was on the third floor at the end of a long corridor filled with plush salmon-coloured carpet. The door was locked but Jim could see through glass walls. The lights were off. A desk and bookcase sat close to each other, a short safe stood behind them. 

"You really should wait in the truck," Jim tried one last time. "If Warner finds out you're here, he'll go ballistic." 

Blair didn't answer, the silence a wall of memory between them, growing taller by the minute. 

"Come on. We have to get back far enough so he doesn't see us when he comes in. Simon has an office picked out down this way." 

He led Blair along another corridor where the walls were half-glass. He turned into an office and found Simon and Taggert just settling themselves on the floor, hidden by a desk. A casual glance into the room would reveal nothing out of place. It was a good spot. By peering over the desk, it was possible to see straight into Stephen's office with only two layers of windows between. The door was hidden, but everything else was visible. Jim was satisfied and settled down to wait. 

The silence drew out. Blair had his own spot, behind a filing cabinet near the door. Simon and Joel kept their own thoughts, leaving Jim the opportunity to open his hearing, to focus it on the corridor outside. Carpet or not, he would hear Holmes if he approached. He would smell the man, matching it to the scent he'd found at Nick's house. The trap was set. There was only the prey left to spring it. 

It grew dark and a little cold. Jim was glad Blair had worn such a thick jacket otherwise he would have his teeth chattering by now. He wanted to glance over and check how his partner was doing but he didn't dare lift his concentration for one moment. He couldn't risk Holmes coming in unobserved. 

"Jim?" He looked up and found Simon glancing at his watch. "It's been three hours. I'd say we have one more before the Feds get their hands on a search warrant and come in here. I left it as late as I could - but the moment I told Warner, I knew they'd find out soon after." 

"We'll wait as long as it takes." 

Simon nodded and Jim resumed his surveillance. Silence filled the empty office once more and Jim opened his hearing further, counting off all the catalogued noises he knew belonged to this place. He ranged out from their hide-out and down to the next floor, then the one below - and that's when he heard it. 

He focussed, hard and swift. There they were. Tell-tale noises of somebody moving through the building carefully, checking spaces before entering them. If Holmes thought this was a trap, he wouldn't be here. He must have been waiting for the search warrant to be approved to make sure the information was real. 

The door to the stairs opened and soft footfalls pressed against the carpet. Jim stiffened, pulling out his gun. He kept track of the noises, knowing Simon and Joel would understand his readiness and be ready themselves. 

Slowly now, Holmes made his way towards Stephen's office. He paused outside the door, obviously checking to make sure he was alone. Then there was a series of clicks and the door swung open. More footsteps which stopped again - probably before the safe. 

Jim waited, trying not to hold his breath. Slowly, he turned and peered over the desk, focussing everything now on his sight, on making out the clear image of the man from the photo. Holmes stood there a moment, reaching into his pocket. He brought out some device Jim couldn't identify and placed it against the safe. Three swift turns of the dial and the door came open, softly and silently. Jim brought his gun up and aimed, ready to stand and make a move - but there was suddenly something in the way \- something he hadn't seen or heard. 

"Shit!" 

Simon and Joel scrambled up beside him and looked - but he kept his attention and his aim on the room, coming slowly to his feet. 

Damn you, Sandburg! 

Blair had crept out of their hide-out, had scrambled along the corridor and had entered Stephen's office without anybody - not one of the real professionals - noticing. He now stood facing Holmes, a gun held between two hands, elbows straight and steady. 

Jim didn't move, couldn't afford to. Any distraction and the moment would be lost. Instead, he kept his gun on Holmes and listened. 

"Hands where I can see them," Blair said, his hoarse voice level, his breathing regular but forced. The trip of his heartbeat was almost erratic and Jim had to stop himself moving forward, moving to interfere. Blair was walking a tightrope and the smallest thing might make him fall. 

Holmes raised his hands in the air and turned to face Blair. Jim could see a flicker of recognition there and if he'd had any doubt about whether they had the right man, it vanished in that moment. Holmes knew exactly who Blair was. 

"Ah, the rejected lover." Holmes took a breath and steadied - but didn't make any silly moves. "So, you gave the cops false information so you could draw me into the open, eh?" 

"No," Blair replied, "The information was real. Why would I lie?" 

"Why tell them in the first place?" 

"So they would know I was telling the truth." 

"Were you?" 

"I told them I saw another man at Nick's place. They didn't believe me. It didn't take long to work out what Nick had really been up to - and why somebody might want to kill him." 

Holmes smiled and Jim's skin crawled. "Come on, Blair, you can't tell me you didn't want to kill him when you found out he was sleeping with me." 

The gun never wavered from it's aim - but Blair's fingers gripped and re-gripped, as though he were debating within himself whether he should just pull the trigger. That tiny clutching movement clutched at Jim's stomach. "What did you do to Nick?" 

Again Holmes smiled, "You think I'm going to admit that I killed him? Hah! I'm here on official business. I'm investigating a lead on a murder ..." 

"Then show me your search warrant." 

Holmes lifted his chin. He didn't have one. "I'm investigating the murder of a protected witness - a murder which you committed. You'll never get me to say otherwise." 

"I never expected you to. I mean, why on earth would you tell the truth?" 

"Exactly. I'm glad we understand one another." 

"So what did you do to him? To make him dump me?" 

Holmes appeared to be enjoying himself, totally unworried by the gun pointed at him - nor the minutes ticking by. "Maybe I was just better in bed than you. It was remarkably easy, you know. I just played hard to get. My orders were to get close to him, find out what he was up to \- so I had to get him to trust me. If I'd just jumped into his bed at the first opportunity, he would have been suspicious. So I strung him along. Believe it or not, but the first time I slept with him was about an hour after he dumped you. I'll admit, it was distasteful - but it was all in the line of duty. Still, he seemed to enjoy it." 

Jim couldn't see Blair's face - and he wished he could, wished with all his heart because it was necessary. He couldn't tell enough of what the man was thinking just by listening to his breathing, his pounding heart, scent the sweat of fear drifting on the air to him. It wasn't enough. 

Blair released the safety catch on the gun, his arms shaking a little now. Holmes's eyes widened - but then he shrugged. 

"You expect me to believe you'll kill me?" 

"Why not? You thought I was ready to kill Nick." 

"But you didn't." 

"No. You did." 

"So why should I believe this now?" 

Blair's voice dropped, "Why is it that we're so quick to assume that your average, ordinary human being, well-adjusted and reasonable, would never have the capacity for cold-blooded murder?" 

"Jim!" Simon hissed, "End this now!" 

But Jim didn't move. He couldn't. He understood too much of what was going on here. But if Blair ... if Blair killed the man then Jim ... Jim would ...have to ... He kept his gun trained on Holmes, swallowed his fear and held on for dear life. 

Simon came close, his voice a hissed demand. "Ellison, shoot the damn gun out of Sandburg's hands! Do it!" 

Jim kept his aim steady, but his voice came out a tumbling whisper, filled with dread and terror, "You .... want me to shoot _Blair?_ Are you serious?" Serious? Was he? Would he really do it, if there was no other choice? 

A cold hand gripped his mind, forcing his concentration onto the moment, freezing all other thought. 

Simon fell silent and Jim turned his attention back to the others. Blair brought the gun up until he could sight along the barrel. "What did you do with the diamonds?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"No, not really." Blair came around the desk then, changing his grip on the gun until it stood out in his right hand only, the barrel only inches from Holmes's head, too close to miss, too near for the other man to risk hitting it away. Jim could see quite clearly, the finger tightening on the trigger and the action mirrored the ache in his guts. He wanted to close his eyes, pretend this wasn't happening, that the man he loved wasn't about to commit murder - but he couldn't do that, couldn't desert Blair now, of all times. 

But Simon was ready and prepared. He lifted his gun and aimed it at Blair. Jim took one step to his right and barred the way. 

"Jim!" Simon's anger split the silence, giving away their position. "Damn it, Jim, you have to stop him!" 

But it was too late. Holmes had seen them, his eyes wide with apprehension. "You're not alone, are you?" 

"Oh, yeah. Aren't you?" 

Holmes turned back to Blair then, suddenly not so sure his life wasn't about to be ended. 

"Get it now?" Blair murmured. "I can kill you, you know. The effort required is far less than you took to kill Nick. You beat him up a little beforehand, didn't you? Was that to make up for the fact that you'd had to have sex with him - or because he wouldn't tell you where the diamonds were? I wonder what you would have done if I hadn't so conveniently come along to give you a cover, somebody to blame the murder on." 

"But you did - and you were a fool." 

"Oh yes, I was a fool, all right," Blair paused, his voice, his hands, his whole body shaking, reacting to things Jim could only imagine. Silently, he held on, hoping, just hoping that he was right, that Simon was wrong, trusting, yes, trusting that he knew, just knew Blair well enough to know - but it was hope and he knew it. If he was wrong ... dear gods, he couldn't be wrong ... 

"Yes," Blair continued as though gathering the same thoughts himself. "I was a fool - but not as big a fool as you think I am." He raised his voice a little. "You got him, Jim?" 

"Yes!" Jim yelled, stepping out from behind the desk, shoring up the relief flooding through him. He would have time for reactions later. 

Keeping his gun trained on Holmes, he made his way along the corridor until he reached the open door. He stepped inside leaving room for Simon and Joel to come in and cuff the man and relieve him of his gun. Only then did Blair lower his weapon - but he wasn't finished yet. 

He stepped closer to Holmes and pushed him hard, making the agent stumble against the door. "You bastard! You're going to pay for what you did ... you are just .... Just ..." 

"Sandburg, let me ..." 

But Simon's admonishment fell on deaf ears as Blair shook his head raggedly. "You really think I'd be stupid enough to kill you?" 

Holmes grunted, "Fuck off!" 

Blair went for him then - but Jim was faster, grabbing his partner and holding him back. Blair didn't struggle. He just stood there and watched Joel hustle the man out of the office and down the corridor. Jim could feel waves of heat and fury radiate from Blair and he let go, wanting to give him time to calm down - if there was that much time left in the world. 

Simon ignored them both for a minute as he radioed Warner to give him a run down of what had happened. He then turned and faced Blair again. "Sandburg, I'm going to have your hide for this! Hand me that gun!" 

Blair gave it to him - then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tape recorder. He gazed down at it for a moment, then pushed it at Simon. "Here, take this. He doesn't actually admit that he killed Nick - but he doesn't deny it when I accuse him of it. He _does_ say that _I_ didn't do it however. That, together with his presence here should be enough to clear me" 

"And you think that's going to be enough to save you from me?" Simon towered over the younger man, forcing Jim to take a step closer, in case intervention was required. "Your ride-along status is revoked as of now. Tomorrow morning you will sit down and tell me what the fuck you were thinking of - and where you got a gun without a permit." 

"Simon," Jim tried to interrupt - but Simon didn't care at the moment. 

"Later. Right now I want those statues out of that safe and I want Sandburg gone before the Feds get here." 

"Simon, there are no statues." 

The captain turned to Jim, total confusion warring on his face. "What do you mean, no statues?" 

"Blair never had any to begin with. What he asked me to do was to destroy all his sentinel research before a search party could find it. I sent it to Stephen for safe-keeping." I did what I thought was right - only the problem was that I should have done what Blair thought was right instead. 

"Fuck, I just don't want to hear this, okay? Get the stuff out now and do something with it. I don't want to know any more about it. But I do want you both down at the station first thing tomorrow and you'd better have your stories straight or I will have you both up on charges! Do I make myself clear!" 

Jim nodded - and so did Blair. Simon took that as his cue to make a stormy exit. 

Waiting until the other man was gone, Jim tried not to look at Blair, tried not to think about him, about what he'd seen and known and believed. The air was cold around them, empty and vacant and he knew that words were required to fill it - words that wouldn't tip Blair over that edge once and for all. He took a careful breath, "I didn't smell the gun on you." 

Blair was still watching the corridor - now empty. His voice was leaden, damped down and sound-proofed. "I put it in a plastic bag." 

He'd thought it all out, hadn't he? Knew Jim well enough to plan around his senses - had even known that Jim would be too focussed on Holmes to notice his partner sneaking up. 

Shaking his head, Jim made for the safe. He took out the box he'd sent his brother and kicked the door shut. He pulled out a pair of gloves, removed the safe-cracker and put it into an evidence bag. When he was done, he handed the box to Blair. "There, all yours again. Come on, move. I want to go home." 

Concluded in part five.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## The Good Friend

by Jack Reuben Darcy

* * *

The Good Friend - Part five   
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

He lay in bed and listened to the night. Listened to all the things he was used to and tried to filter them out, the way he'd taught Jim. But it wasn't easy. In order to know what to filter out, he had to concentrate on it first, know everything about it. 

He was so tired of thinking. So tired of hurting and being hurt in return. Tired of moods which shifted and strayed, starving him of any kind of stability he could trust. Tired of the rug being pulled out from under feet still trembling from the last fall. So tired now he couldn't even sleep. 

Why wasn't there a drug that could simply switch the brain off for eight hours? Or rather, why wasn't there one which wouldn't risk life and limb? 

He needed a holiday - one where he could leave himself behind. The self he didn't know and didn't like and didn't even want to look at any more. He wanted to go somewhere and find the self he'd lost along this path. The self he trusted, the self who didn't mind caring and who could deal with it, who could face up to expectations and responsibilities without flinching, who openly welcomed interesting and exciting changes and allowed himself to be altered by them, to grow from them. That's what life was about, wasn't it? 

Wasn't it? 

At least, it had always felt like that before. Before all this had begun. Before Nick. Before ... 

He gripped his hands together. He could still feel the gun between them, a ghost of promised death. Would it have felt good to pull the trigger? For a moment, yes. For one single moment, it would have felt just fine \- but then he would be faced with a lifetime of moments when it would have felt anything but. 

He no longer even knew himself. The Blair Sandburg that had held a gun tonight was not a man he knew. Desperate times did not always call for desperate measures - but he had taken them nonetheless. He'd been prepared to. He'd welcomed the risk with open arms. 

And he'd almost pulled the trigger. 

Almost. 

Did that count? Was he almost a killer? 

Was he kidding himself? 

If Jim and Simon hadn't been there, if he'd thought he could get away with it, if there was some way to do that - would he have finished it? Would he have taken the gun with him in the first place if he'd thought, really thought for one moment that there was this vague, insubstantial and terrifying possibility that he might have gone through with it? 

Unable to trust to events and people to make sure the job was done right, he'd trusted himself - and found ... what? 

The absence of some resounding answer set his body to trembling again. 

This was too much, wasn't it? All of this. Everything that had happened. Had he now lost so much of himself he could believe he'd have the capability to murder? 

Or ... 

Did _almost_ count? Almost - but _not_? Could have been a murderer - but chose not to be? Did that work? Could he trust that? Could he rely on some last shred of himself to believe that he would never have pulled the trigger? 

The shaking slowed a little, letting him draw a long breath in. He let it out before trying another. 

Jim would know. He would understand. He saw the shifting patterns of lines in people's lives and the power required to make a step over one. But he no longer had the ability to ask - and it was doubtful Jim would answer. 

So ... 

They no longer needed each other. The worst was past. The crises was gone. Where did that leave them? 

Apart. 

A soft groan filtered to his ears. He opened his eyes and sat up, frowning in the darkness. Jim had gone to bed - hadn't he? But the noise wasn't coming from upstairs, but instead, from beyond his doors. 

Another groan and he got out of bed. There was stifled pain in that voice. 

He threw on sweats and a t-shirt and carefully opened his door, listening intently. A hiss followed by another groan made him move. 

Stepping out into the lounge, he squinted in the dark. The blinds were drawn down and only the smallest amount of light peeked through around the edges. Even so, the figure on the couch was definitely Jim - and he was in pain. 

Moving quickly now, he knelt beside the form of his partner, trying to see all he could - without turning a light on. Jim appeared to be asleep \- but he was restless, tossing his head in small jerks as though fighting something off. 

"Jim?" Blair spoke quietly but the sound of his voice seemed to have no affect. "Jim? Come on man, you're just dreaming, okay?" 

"No," Jim's hiss sliced the quiet. "Not asleep. Can't sleep." 

"Why not?" 

"Hurts." 

Frowning again, Blair leaned forward, "What hurts?" 

Abruptly, Jim sat up, burying his face in his hands, "My eyes. Won't stop hurting. Tried drops and cream and everything but they just hurt so much I can't sleep." 

Blair moved to kneel directly in front of the older man. "Can you look at me?" 

Jim shook his head, "Hurts to open them." 

"Can you just try? I need to see your eyes." 

Taking a deep breath, Jim lifted his head then opened his eyes a little. Blair could see no redness around the blue but they were obviously irritated by something. After the briefest moment, Jim closed them again, screwing up his face against the pain. 

"Okay," Blair nodded to himself. He then got up and went into the bathroom. He ran a towel under the cold tap, squeezed out the excess water and went back into the living room. "Lie down, Jim." 

Jim moved carefully, lying on his back. Blair knelt beside him again and laid the towel on his eyes. "Just listen to me, okay? I want you to focus only on the sound of my voice. Just listen and focus." 

With a tiny nod, Jim whispered, "Keep talking." 

"Okay. You just keep listening. I don't know what's wrong with your eyes but if you can focus on sound for a while ..." 

"No ... talk about something else. Tell me ..." 

"What?" 

"About ... about ... you." 

"Me?" Blair held his breath, not sure if he could do this. 

"About you and ... and when you started dating guys. Please." 

"Okay, okay." Blair adjusted the cloth and kept his hand on it. "Me and guys. Right. Well, I suppose we didn't ever talk about it, did we? I know you thought ... Nick was the first but he wasn't. I guess I'd always been looking at guys. At least as far back as I was looking at girls. Never really did much about it at first. Kind of fell in love with a boy in high school. We fooled around a little but then he moved and I figured it was for the best. It was only after I started college that I did anything more. But ... until Nick, well, I hadn't been out with a guy for a while. I just ... I ..." 

Jim's hand closed over his, squeezing a little. "Chief?" 

"Yeah?" 

"It's okay now." 

"You sure?" 

Jim took the towel from his eyes and slowly opened them. His gaze hit Blair hard and he swallowed. "Great. That's great. Um ... think you can sleep now?" 

"Sure." Jim's gaze didn't budge - so Blair got to his feet. 

"Good night." 

Jim nodded and he left, heading back to his bedroom. He closed the door and got back under the covers. 

They didn't need each other any more, right? They didn't. So if they didn't, they could just go their separate ways, right? They could, couldn't they? 

He closed his eyes, settled and tried to convince his brain to shut the fuck up for a while and give him a break. He pushed hard, deliberately focusing only on some nice blank page image, concentrating on that until the other thoughts in his head slowed and silenced. 

He woke to a sound from the living room. Blinking, he was instantly alert. It was Jim again, groaning. 

Without hesitating this time, he got up and went to his friend, kneeling down beside the couch. "Jim? Your eyes again?" 

Jim flinched hard at the sound of his voice, instantly putting his hands to his ears. "No!" 

Blair didn't need further explanations - it was obvious. Instead, he reached out and put his hands on Jim's, touching gently, forcing himself to move slowly. Talking now would be a mistake so he had to remind Jim silently to focus, to dial down, to concentrate. 

He moved his hands, feeling the smooth skin on the backs of Jim's. There was no discernible difference to Jim's pain so Blair leaned forward, placed his lips on the back of Jim's hand and mouthed the words. "Focus on my touch." 

Jim's eyes shot open, wide, his gaze locking on Blair - and suddenly Blair couldn't move. The air between them crackled with electricity. His heart began to pound and as though Jim heard it, he closed his eyes again, backing down. 

Long, terrible seconds drew out and then Jim nodded, "You can let go now. Everything's fine." 

"Jim, I..." 

"Go to bed. I'm fine." With that, he rolled over onto his side, giving Blair a view of no more than his back. 

This was a rejection. Blair had learned enough over the last few weeks to know one when he saw one. A burst of anger surged up inside him - but he bit down on it. What would yelling at Jim achieve right now? And what did he want it to achieve? Why be angry? 

Why be angry with _Jim_? 

He went back to bed. He ducked under the covers, pulled them over his head and squeezed his eyes tight. 

But it didn't do any good. He couldn't get back to sleep. The last four weeks simply wouldn't leave him alone and it didn't matter how many times he went over it, how confused he felt, how wounded and hurt and scarred he knew he was, it still didn't alter the plain and awful fact that he didn't want to be here - he wanted to be out there, with Jim. 

Jim was his best friend. Jim was hurting, inside and out. His pain was making his senses spike to the point where he couldn't dial it down without help. But he didn't want Blair's help, did he? He didn't want ... 

A sharp groan had him out of the bed immediately. Within seconds he was standing by the couch, watching Jim pull off his t-shirt, frantic hands tearing the fabric. Without hesitating, Blair grabbed the man's arm and urged him to his feet. He dragged him to the bathroom but even before they reached the door, he could see the huge red welts rise along Jim's throat and arms where his skin was reacting to simple cloth. As Jim scrambled out of the rest of his clothes, Blair turned on the water, putting just enough hot into the mix to take the chill off it. Then he stepped back and let the man get in on his own. He stopped outside the door but left it open, so he could talk. 

"You have to tell me what's bothering you. This isn't going to stop, you know. You're just going to alternate between one sensory spike and another until you're a shrivelled up mess in a mental ward somewhere. Now, please, man - we both need some sleep. Talk to me. I want to help." 

"You want to help?" Jim's voice was cutting. "Come in here, then. Strip off and climb in here with me. Don't flinch when I touch you and don't cry rape when I fuck you." 

"Jim! I'm serious! You have to tell me what's wrong!" 

"Why? Is it going to make a difference? Sure, the sensory spikes might go away but right now, at least they're giving me something else to think about. And why should I tell you? Why do you think you can help me when you're the cause of it all anyway ..." The rest was lost in the spray of the shower. 

Blair said nothing, knowing there was no point. Instead, he stood there and waited and eventually, the shower turned off. Jim dried himself, pulled his sweats back on and appeared at the door, the marks on his chest now almost gone. 

"Better?" Blair ventured carefully. 

Jim just shook his head and turned for the couch. He sat down with a thump and buried his head in his hands once more. 

For a minute, Blair didn't know whether to go to him or not. There were too many reasons not to and too many reasons to do it and all of them crowded his head at the same time but not one of them really had anything to do with the fact that regardless of how he felt or whether he really felt anything at all or not and whether he knew who he was and whether he trusted himself to even make it that far, the one thing that kept facing him here was the undeniable fact that Jim needed him - and he _wanted_ to be needed. 

By Jim. 

And ... 

And he wanted to be _wanted_ by Jim. 

And ... 

No. That was enough for the moment. Enough for this moment. 

He moved. Slowly, stealthily, so as not to worry the sentinel. He crossed the room and knelt before him. "Jim?" 

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" 

"Because you need me." 

"I don't." 

"Fine. Behave like a spoiled brat - but do as I say anyway." 

"What?" 

Blair tossed the words around in his head - but there was no way to say this without the obvious connotations. "Come to bed with me. You'll be more comfortable and that way, if you get any more spikes, I can help before they get too bad." 

"No," Jim was shaking his head, denial in every inch of his body. He stubbornly refused to look up. "No. Bed is too ... too ... Oh, fuck, Sandburg, why can't you just ... just leave me ... and Christ, I don't mean that, I don't want you to leave me I just want this to be over. I can't do this any more, you know? I can't sit here and watch you walk out again because I know you will and I guess, I really should be able to let you go if I was anything like the good friend I want to be but I just ... can't ... and ... Oh, fuck!" 

"Jim," Blair placed his hands on Jim's knees. "Come to bed. Come on, it won't hurt any more, I promise." 

"Don't give me that crap!" Without warning, Jim sprang to his feet, stepping way from Blair as though he were afraid of something. "Do you have any idea what if feels like to be so close to you and not be allowed to touch you? Do you?" 

Blair frowned and stood, facing Jim but unable to stop the heavy pacing back and forth. "You can touch me, Jim. I never said ..." 

"You told me to stay away - in no uncertain terms - and what good would it do anyway, eh? If you let me touch you, I can only do it as a friend and you know I want more than that. So I have to just pretend that I'm your best friend, watch you walk out and leave me because you can't love me and I know I shouldn't say that and I shouldn't expect it but I do. I do, okay? Because I love you and I want you and it scares the shit out of me but I can't help it." 

Blair approached him slowly, the razored edge of Jim's words cutting into him, making him bleed. "It's okay to touch me, Jim. Really. I promise you, it is." 

"Oh, right, like I promised you to destroy your research. God, this has become such a game between us, hasn't it? Trust and betrayal, all one and the same. Now I don't believe you - so where does that leave us, eh? I just need something to make me sleep and it will be fine..." 

Blair faced him, stopped the pacing and reached out with careful hands to touch bare shoulders. "It's okay to touch me, Jim. I don't mind." 

"Don't do this, Blair!" 

"I," Blair swallowed, holding it in, keeping it steady because Jim needed him to. "I want you to touch me." 

Jim pushed his hands away, his eyes anguished, reeking the pain his body was forcing onto him, "Don't you understand!" 

"I do, really I do..." 

"No you DON'T!" Jim grabbed his hands tight, his chest heaving. "I almost shot you tonight! I almost ... pulled the fucking trigger! I love you and I would have ... I would have ....." Jim's voice broke at the last and silent tears spilled out of his eyes, down his cheeks. 

Blair gazed steadily at him, listening to the echo of those words in his own mind. Firmly, but gently, he eased his wrists free then brought his hands up to frame Jim's face. "But you didn't shoot me. And you know why? Because you knew I wouldn't kill Holmes. You knew, Jim, you knew." 

"I knew ... nothing," Jim breathed, his body a temple of contained fever. "I ... hoped, that's all. I hoped." 

Blair shuddered - but stepped closer anyway, bringing Jim's face down a little, until he could reach it. Then, holding his breath, he kissed the man. Instantly, Jim stiffened with denial - but Blair wouldn't let him pull away. Instead, he kissed him again, letting his tongue play against a mouth closed to him. Jim's resistance held, unwilling to trust, not wanting charity ... and yet ... 

Blair let his body speak, moving close enough for Jim to feel the warmth of another living soul, one who cared for him. He kissed those lips again and for a moment, he thought Jim might push him away - but then suddenly, Jim's arms came around him and grabbed him close, opening to make the kiss real, plunging his tongue deep into Blair's mouth, harsh with desperation. 

Jim groaned, his hunger forcing a closer connection and Blair allowed it, lifting his arms around Jim's neck, letting the man take what he needed. And then the kiss was over and Jim just held him, burying his face in Blair's hair. His whole body trembled, making his voice shake. "God, I love you so much, Blair. I do. I'm so sorry." 

Blair's guts twisted at the plaintive apology, the depths of anguish feeding those whispered words. Jim _did_ need him - no matter what he said but ... 

This went beyond need. This was hovering perilously close to necessity. The only question was, was he strong enough to give? 

"Come to bed, Jim," Blair whispered one more time, reaching out and touching the link, even as it was formed. "Trust me, okay? Just trust me. I'll help you get some sleep. Trust me." 

Slowly, almost painfully, Jim's tension eased a little and eventually, he gave a short, despairing nod. Blair eased back and took Jim's hand in his own. Leading him into the bedroom, Blair switched on a lamp, pulled the covers back and made sure Jim lay down. There wasn't much room - but there was enough for them to lie together, Blair spooned up behind Jim, arms wrapped around him. Jim breathed deeply, settled - then took Blair's hand in his, holding it to his chest. 

Blair closed his eyes - but left the lamp on. 

* * *

Thick, muzzy dreams inhabited his night. Glass broken at his feet, voices raised in anger and shadows of changing shape he could never identify. But there was something else there, a presence, and he held onto it, kept track of it and followed it up to the surface until he could breathe, until he could feel again, could afford to feel again. 

Feel ... 

Feel ... warmth on his face, sunshine drifting into the room. 

Feel ... comfort and grace and that presence with him still. 

Feel ... a mouth pressed against him, tongue delicately probing his nipple, suckling like nature, needing sustenance. 

In an instant, Jim was wide awake - and hard. Very hard. He hardly dared open his eyes. He wanted to feel this a moment longer, wanted to remember what it felt like because he knew, just knew that Blair was still asleep, was doing this from some memory. 

But he had to stop it, couldn't let it go on. He didn't want this, didn't want to be some ghosted memory in the mind of this man. He wanted to be the one who was loved and cherished and nothing, not even pretending, would be enough temptation to take its place. He put his hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed gently. 

The nuzzling stopped but Blair didn't move. He lay half-wrapped around Jim, one leg over him, arm thrown haphazardly towards Jim's shoulder. 

But that mouth was still attached to his nipple and after a moment, the tongue moved again, as though Blair had only shifted back into his sleep-driven confusion. 

Wanting to scream in frustration, in want and desire and terror - Jim squeezed the shoulder a little harder, determined to wake Blair, to let him know that ... 

Blair froze. 

Jim wanted to say something then, some off-hand comment to take away the awkwardness of the moment, just in case Blair might be feeling ... well ... 

Not for the first time, words failed him. Instead, he just lay there, noting how the pale morning light filtered into this room, how it made new shadows and destroyed older ones, how there were facets to this space he'd never noticed before. 

Blair moved - and instantly Jim's eyes were on him. Blair moved and lifted his head. Lifted his head and blinked his eyes until they caught and held Jim's. In this light, the blue was unfathomable, dark and rich. 

There was something wrong with the air in this room. How did Blair live with it? How could he breathe this? How could he ... 

Blair moved again, shifting closer until ... until ... 

Jim closed his eyes. Frozen with fear, he could only listen to his own heartbeat, too terrified to listen to Blair's. 

No. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't let his own needs overpower his good sense, couldn't open up and reveal ... 

Blair's lips brushed against his own, soft, feather-like, suggesting and tempting and playing the devil with him. Determination alone kept him where he was, refusing to take the bait. 

"Open your eyes, Jim," Blair whispered. 

Caught, entrapped and little more than a slave to that voice, Jim did as he was told - and saw ... saw ... 

Heat. 

Dear God. 

Please don't do this to me. 

Don't. 

Can't. 

Won't. 

But he didn't have to. Blair did, instead. His own eyes wide in the pale light, he kept hold of Jim's gaze and moved south again, once more taking the over-sensitised nipple into his mouth. 

Jim clenched his teeth, grabbed a fistful of sheeting and held in a prayer for mercy. Blair paid no attention to his silent plea and instead, fastened his teeth, ever so gently, to the hardened nub. With deliberate care, he nipped once, hard. The pain twisted with the pleasure, and it took all of Jim's strength to stop himself arching up for more. 

Yes, more, please more. 

A flat tongue laved across the surface then, easing and soothing flesh already worked to fever pitch. Then Blair's mouth left the nipple and parts of Jim relaxed, hoping the torture was over. 

Hoping it was just beginning. 

Hoping. 

Blair moved again, his gaze still locked on Jim's, the silence still hanging between them, still there, still full and empty at the same time and Jim knew he had to be giving things away here, had to be opening up in the way that he'd always feared, getting closer and revealing everything in his eyes - but he couldn't shut them, couldn't find words to make Blair stop this, didn't want to know if this was pity or desire and was too afraid, way too afraid to ask. 

And he couldn't look away. 

Blair moved slowly, drawing down Jim's body, lifting the covers away from them both as he did. No part of him touched Jim now - but that did nothing to still Jim's desire. He could see his own arousal push up into his sweats, right next to Blair's face. 

His gaze still steady, Blair braced his weight on his hands, lowered his head, opened his mouth and placed it around the hard flesh hidden by stretched cotton. 

Jim cried out. With his whole body. Trembling, sweating, still so terrified, he watched as Blair mouthed him firmly and yet gently. The tongue dipped out, seeking the moist tip of his cock, making the encompassing cloth more wet. 

Before Jim could react, Blair's hands stripped the sweats down until his genitals were revealed. His cock sprang up, as though begging, in the way that Jim didn't dare, begging for attention. 

Blair looked at him, looked him in the eye - then let his gaze drift down and Jim could see, with his own eyes, the way Blair drank in the sight. 

His cock flinched under that lusty scrutiny. Then, as if in slow motion, Blair lowered his head again and flicked out his tongue to taste the drop of moisture forming because of him. 

Jim couldn't breathe. He couldn't. Only little fits of his lungs kept any air coming in at all. His hands ached with clutching sheets, his muscles ached with not moving and wanting to but if he did, if he actually moved, what else would he reveal, what else would become exposed to this shining light before him? 

No. Terror could not - would not - force him to something he wasn't ready for. Sex had never been so intimate before. Why couldn't he contain it now? Why couldn't he stop it from leaking out through his eyes, his body ... his _treacherous_ body. 

Poised in that place between light and dark, he could do nothing either way, nothing to flee, nothing to stop the man with him opening his mouth and taking Jim's cock into that moist, heated cavern, drawing him into pleasure he'd only ever dreamed about. His body reacted with a violent tremor, fresh sweat breaking out all over him. 

The moan which reached his ears, came from Blair. The vibrations scattered up Jim's belly, leaving a trail of fire behind. Shivering now, as though they lay in sub-zero temperatures, Jim watched as that pink tongue lapped at him, felt his cock, got to know it - intimately. 

Jim rushed to the edge, hung there, desperate to fall, desperate to cling on. Never before in his life had he felt something this good, this wanted, this needed, this desired and his battered soul screamed at him from the inside to let it go, to open up and just let it go... 

Blair sucked. Once. Hard. With a strangled cry, Jim's body betrayed him completely and he came, shooting deep into a mouth which took his gift and swallowed, milking him. Wave after wave of agony swept through him but his eyes could see nothing but the man sucking his cock until it was dry. 

Dizzy, hitching in air, he watched as Blair licked the last drops away, licked his own lips, satisfied - then glanced back up to meet Jim's gaze. 

For long moments that might have been hours or days - Blair stayed there, crouched over Jim's groin, a look of nothing on his face, nothing Jim could recognize because, really, they'd never been in this place before, had they, never done this willingly, deliberately and without desperation and dire need. 

But was this free of those things - even if it was slow? Was there such a thing as slow urgency? 

Again Blair moved - but this time, the gestures were more complex. With one hand he reached behind where Jim could see -while the other hand gently pushed Jim's hip, rolling him to his side. 

Like a creature without will, Jim allowed his body to be ruled by a greater force. The cool touch, when it came, was welcome. He was already too hot - especially there. Especially in that place he'd kept secret even from himself. 

Blair's touch was gentle however, easing his hand into the crack of Jim's ass, caressing, determined and yet sure. 

Jim moved. Just a little. He had that power now, to move. Just enough to give Blair more access. He felt so many things at once. Felt a hand smooth his thigh as it pushed his legs further apart, felt soft kisses trail down his spine, felt a single finger press at his hole, slick with something he could scent but not identify. 

The finger entered him and he relaxed. This was easy. He could do this. This was not his desire but Blair's. He would reveal nothing with this act. He was safe. 

More kisses peppered his shoulders and again he could move, pushing back a little to take more of that finger. Allowing, letting, giving permission. He felt the walls of his passage stretch a little, and then more as Blair inserted another slick finger. 

He moaned. He couldn't help it. Having Blair this close, actually inside him, wanting more, revealing his own soul, being intimate with Jim in a way he'd only ever been with other men - this was so good, so wonderful and yes, he could do this, could let Blair do this to him, _wanted_ Blair to do this to him, to take him. 

Enter him. Penetrate his body the way the man had already penetrated his life, his soul. 

Yes. 

Please. 

Gentle teeth latched onto his shoulder as a third finger was pushed into him. Jim rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs wide, feeling Blair kneel between them. He could smell more of the gel and knew it would be soon, wanted it to be soon because he was hard, so hard just thinking about this, thinking of what Blair was about to do to him, that their coupling would reveal to him something of Blair he'd never been allowed to see before and he wished he could see it, wished he could turn so he tried to, tried to glance over his shoulder but what he saw almost made him come. 

Somehow, Blair had removed his clothes. Naked, holding his weight up with one hand, Blair knelt over him, ready to guide his heavy cock, that beautiful heavy cock, into Jim's opening. As though he knew he was being watched, Blair looked up and in that moment, entered Jim. 

With a hard gasp, Jim pushed his upper body off the bed, determined to see this, twisting his head around until it hurt but there was no other pain, nothing but the feeling of Blair inside him, his cock pushing and pausing, going deeper and deeper, filling Jim and stretching him and taking him, taking his virginity and god, he was going to come if Blair didn't get right inside him soon and then Blair was there, all the way in him, lying down on top of him, holding him close, kissing the back of his neck and too close for Jim to see any more but it didn't matter now because he'd seen what he needed to see, seen the look of wanton desire in Blair's eyes, the desire to be doing this to Jim, to be this close to him, to be giving and receiving the pleasure of this sodomy. 

Only then did he allow himself to listen, for the harsh breathing near his ear, the pounding heartbeat, to smell the thick arousal hanging in the air. Allow himself to absorb all this because this was not just desperation and urgency - this was sex, pure and raw and Blair was taking him properly now, moving in and out of him, sliding that cock, moist and slick, in and out of him, making him shudder, gasp, taking him so close to death and so far away from it and he was crying out now, needing it to last and needing it to end and wishing he could see it end for Blair but feeling it happen anyway. 

Blair pounded into him now, pounded against his prostate, gasping his ecstasy with every lunge, pressing him against the bed with every thrust. Jim reached down to grasp his cock where it was crushed against the bed \- then felt Blair's hand join his and together they made it happen. Together, they moved and thrust against each other, a rhythm being born of a natural connection, driving them forward into the morning until neither could stand it any longer. 

With a sudden, harsh, almost painful jerk, Blair's cock thickened in Jim's ass, flinched and spasmed. Hot, wet splashes of semen filled him and just knowing that it was happening, just knowing it was Blair coming inside him tripped Jim over the edge. His own juices burst out of him, sending lightning through his body, preventing his senses from absorbing any more. 

Dimly then, he was aware of Blair slowing and stopping, aware of his own pleasure soaking into the sheets beneath him. Through a cloud of fog, he felt Blair shift a little, gasp in some needed air then shift some more. Carefully, he lifted himself up, withdrawing and leaving a gaping emptiness inside Jim which was quickly filled when Blair landed on the bed next to him, throwing his arms around Jim and snuggling in close. 

Once more, Jim was unable to move beyond sliding closer, beyond putting his own arm around that body. Beyond that - lay only sleep. 

* * *

Blair stood under the shower and washed the evidence away. Or tried to. There was evidence that could never be removed - though invisible to even sentinel senses. This evidence was concrete, infallible and opaque at the same time. His own evidence. Permanent and marked as such. 

With a caustic eye, he watched the physical evidence sluice down the drain in an attempt at comfort, to reassure him that he need do no more to cover up his crime. But he was older and wiser now and he knew that the man still asleep in his bed was a detective - and a good one at that. 

Soap and shampoo, water and heat. Things that went together as a matter of logic. 

What was he going to say? 

What would Jim say? 

Was he sure? He'd formed no hypothesis before gathering this evidence. No, the evidence lay before him and he would have to play his own cop, draw his own conclusions when there was no more room left for doubt. 

But could he trust it? Could he trust his own fallibility? Would Jim? 

He turned the water off and climbed out. He shaved, dried his hair and dressed in the clothes he'd brought in with him. His skin felt dry and cold but inside he felt only heat. 

* * *

Jim woke to familiar noises. Movement in the kitchen, a cup landing on the bench, the fridge being opened. 

He sat up. He remembered. He felt. 

No pain. Just a mild discomfort if he shifted his weight a certain way. He did it again deliberately, letting the feeling remind him, drawing the memory in and living there for a moment. 

But a moment was all he had. Blair came into the room with a mug of coffee in his hand. He sat on the bed beside Jim and offered it to him. Unable to meet that gaze, Jim took it, swallowed carefully then moved to get up. 

"Jim?" 

"What?" 

Blair reached out and put a hand on his arm. The skin felt cool and dry to his touch. "I ... we need to talk about this." 

Talk? With words? Open up? Admit? Confess? 

No. 

Jim kept his gaze firmly on the bed covers, swinging his legs over the other side. "About what?" 

"What's wrong?" 

"What makes you think something's wrong?" 

"You won't look at me." 

For the first time in his life, Jim felt a blush creeping across his face as his nakedness glared in daylight at him. Grabbing his discarded sweats, he pulled them on, standing only at the last second with his back to Blair. Then and only then could he turn around. 

How could you look something like that in the eye? How could you face it the next morning - or rather, the same morning, knowing what they'd done, what Blair had done to him, had revealed to him ... 

He couldn't do it. Yes, he was afraid. Afraid to see what Blair's eyes looked like now, afraid to see if that intimacy was still there - or if it had gone. Basically, he was just afraid. 

He headed for the door and the bathroom. "We have to get moving. Simon's expecting us at the station." 

"Jim, please," Blair followed him. "We really need to talk. We can't just let last night ... and ... and this morning just ... well, you know ..." 

"We'll talk, Chief, but just not now, okay?" Jim was amazed his voice could sound so normal when inside he was cringing. He reached the safety of the bathroom and closed the door. As he stripped off and turned on the water, he stretched his muscles, felt some ache and complain - but he did feel good. Physically. In fact, he felt almost too good. 

Thank god he'd not given in, not revealed his own self. Seeing that fire in Blair had been more than enough to scare him into silence. 

* * *

A whole new world opened up to him when he walked into Cascade PD that morning. 

Almost everybody he saw as he travelled through the building either smiled, said something congratulatory or simply clapped him on the shoulder as they passed. 

Welcomed back into the fold - as if he'd never left it. Guilty until proven innocent. He was now proven to be trustworthy - so they would trust him again until the next piece of evidence caused them to doubt. 

Would it have made a difference if he'd been a cop? 

Every chance he got, he snuck a look at Jim - but the bigger man kept to his stony silence, as though nothing of any significance had happened between them that morning, as though they had no cause to celebrate, no losses to mourn. Jim's solid frame accompanied him as usual, square-cut, handsome, clear-eyed and close-mouthed. Granite would have appeared softer. 

Jim hadn't said no. He hadn't made any move to stop it. He had, in fact, made moves to encourage it 

And he'd enjoyed it - of that, Blair was certain. Nor did Jim move as though he had some physical injury, so no actual harm had been done - at least, not to Jim's body. 

So what was it? How many times had he claimed he loved Blair? Was he now regretting it, now that they had finally made love? 

As the lift doors opened before them, Jim strode ahead, making Blair hurry to catch up. Then he was engulfed in congratulations and hugs and more pats on the back and for a while everything else was lost in the melee. 

There were reports to write, of course. Statements constructed around a truth they could not afford to reveal. But it was done inside an atmosphere of relief and genuine pleasure. He made sure he thanked every one of them, individually, for what they'd done for him, making no mention of how much it meant that they had trusted him - largely because it hadn't made any real sense at the time. It was only now, now that it was all over, that he could really feel it. 

There was a foundation here. A rock upon which he could place some of his life - as there had always been. It had just taken something drastic for him to feel it solid beneath his feet. 

Naomi had been right - a relationship - with _anyone_ had to, by definition, be based upon trust. 

If anybody noticed Jim's mood or his silence, nobody commented upon it. Perhaps they just put it down to contained relief that his partner was cleared or something. Even so, there were more than a few curious glances cast in the direction of Simon's office when the captain called Jim in for a quiet chat. Blair tried to keep his attention on finishing his report - but he did look up in time to see Jim lean over the table and sign something. Then the man was coming out, waving a thumb at Blair to indicate that it was his turn. 

With a head ready for anything now, Blair strode into Simon's office and prepared to face the music. 

Simon closed the door quietly and firmly. "You want to be a cop, Sandburg?" 

"Uh, not really. Why?" He realized the stupidity of the question only after he asked it. 

"Usually it's only cops and criminals who carry guns to crime scenes. I was just curious." Curious and sarcastic. 

"Look, Simon, I can explain ...." 

"You know what?" Simon moved behind his desk and sat, folding his hands together and lifting his face with a typically grim smile. "I spent half of last night wondering what the fuck you thought you were doing - and the other half not wanting to know. Now I've got a pretty good imagination for a cop - so I can work out a lot of it all by myself. But there's another issue here, one which I don't think you've considered - or you wouldn't have pulled that stunt last night." 

"And what's that?" 

"An issue of trust." 

For a moment, Blair wished he'd misheard. He really did - because if he _had_ misheard, he wouldn't have seen pure and absolute red at that remark. But the red had him in its grip and there was no stopping him this time. "Trust?" He snapped, taking a step forward, the blood inside him surging to battle. "Are you kidding me? You - the man who almost immediately assumed I had something to hide, something like murder? Oh, that's rich, Simon, really rich! How dare you! How dare you say you can't trust me now, eh? I'll bet it was you, wasn't it - urging Jim to shoot me last night. Have you any idea what that did to him? Have you? Man, I don't believe you! After everything I've done here, every time I risked my neck for no pay and a lot of insults about my hair and my clothes \- after everything I've done you now have the gall to tell me you don't trust me?" 

"I never said I didn't trust you, Sandburg," Simon said mildly. "Actually, what I was wondering was why you hadn't trusted me - though I see I have my answer." 

Blair pulled up short, hauled in a breath for good measure and put his hands on his hips. "Fine, so explain it to me." 

"You didn't tell me about your thesis material." 

"That's it?" 

"That's it." 

"Fuck." 

"Whatever you say." 

Blair sank to a chair and shook his head, his glance going out to the bullpen where Jim was sitting behind his desk. The man looked so isolated out there, so firmly locked into something he couldn't understand from this distance. "Jim was awake half the night with sensory spikes because he'd thought he'd have to shoot me ... I ..." 

"He's in love with you, isn't he?" 

"Yes." Blair drew his gaze back to his hands. "Simon, I can't apologize. I won't, okay?" 

"I haven't asked you to." With a sigh, Simon sat back. He tossed something onto the desk in front of Blair and said, "For what it's worth, there's your ID. Your status has been fully reinstated. You're free and clear. Holmes is being charged with first degree murder. The Feds found a link between him and a fence, money exchanging hands, some other cases in the past with questionable results etc, etc. They're handling the case. You'll be expected to testify, of course - though if they can beat a confession out of him, you could get lucky." 

"Right." Blair breathed, picking up the ID and toying with it in his hands. He glanced up, "What do you mean, for what it's worth?" 

"Your partner is taking a leave of absence. I don't know how much time you'd want to spend around here without him." 

Blair sat up. "Leave? Why?" 

"He just said he had some things to think about. Actually, he arranged it before Nick's body was found - I was supposed to bring the paperwork around when I got the call to bring you in." 

Fuck. 

Springing to his feet, Blair made for the door, his thoughts only on Jim - but Simon stopped him. 

"One last thing - now the investigation is over, Nick's body is being released for burial. His family have claimed the body. I understand the funeral is tomorrow. They said you're welcome to attend if you want to." 

Want to? Did he? 

But he couldn't think about that right now. He had to think about Jim. He _had_ to. "Yeah, okay, thanks. I might." Then he was out the door and making for Jim's desk. 

The older man didn't look up but instead, concentrated on signing his name to the bottom of his own statement. He shoved it into a file and got to his feet. "Ready to go?" 

"Jim, what's going on?" 

"Not now." A short shake of his head and Jim came around his desk, file in hand. He dropped it in front of Rafe as he passed, again making Blair hurry to follow him. Blair caught up but kept his silence, all the way down in the lift, all the way to the truck. He held it in until they got inside, until Jim turned the ignition and began to pull out. 

"Jim, you have to tell me what's going on." 

Jim sighed, "Can't you wait until we get home?" 

"Will you tell me then?" 

"Does everything have to be a fight with you?" 

That took the wind out of Blair's sails. He wanted to insist but instead, settled on his seat and kept his gaze out of the window. "I don't want to fight with you." 

"Good." 

And that's all Jim said. 

* * *

He'd always been impatient. Impatient in a kind of patient way. There and yet not, hovering between places like a pendulum swinging with indecision. He'd been that way from the first, that very first day in the hospital, cutting through all the medical hype and hitting straight for the home run. 

Dr McKay. The Gaelic pronunciation. Too impatient to check the stolen name tag properly, too patient to rattle off all the required data on that first meeting. 

Such impatience could also be called enthusiasm - at least, Jim had heard Blair referred to in that manner on more than one occasion. More than once, the anthropologist's life had been in danger simply because of that one character flaw. 

But how much of it was a flaw - and how much of it was Jim's own fear of what Blair might discover? 

He didn't dare talk. He didn't dare have that conversation with the man \- because it was too terrifying to contemplate, too hard to imagine climbing over the barrier. It sat within him, hard and solid and unbreakable. He'd glimpsed over it, seen what he'd always known would be there, and shrank back. 

No, he wasn't proud of it, was thoroughly ashamed that, after all these years, he could finally understand what had driven Carolyn away - and all the others before and after her. And no, it didn't do him any good to see that he would drive Blair away for the same reasons. 

If he was in Blair's shoes, _he'd_ walk away and think himself lucky to have escaped so cheaply. 

* * *

Blair put coffee on as soon as he got in the door. He did it for good reasons. He needed something to do that didn't require he look at Jim \- and he needed the caffeine. 

Actually, what he really needed was an explanation - but he knew he wasn't going to get one. 

Ever. 

All through the drive home, he'd examined his options. He could ignore the whole thing, let it fester and rot over the next few days or perhaps, weeks and wait until it could explode again. Not a first choice. 

Or, he could badger Jim until the man rebelled against the intrusion \- thereby alienating him even further. Not much of a choice at all, really. 

He _could_ try affection and closeness - but there was something about the way Jim moved that warned him off. 

So he made coffee and retired to his room, closing the door gently so it wouldn't sound like a statement of any kind. Then he sat on his bed, knees drawn up, coffee balanced on one and tried to open up a few other options. 

He was tired. Sure, he'd slept a little - but then they'd woken early and exhausted themselves all over again so what rest he'd had was sadly lacking in substance. 

But maybe that was it. Maybe Jim was just tired as well. Maybe they'd both been to hell and back over the last week and maybe it was time for some time out. 

And maybe he should just go in and have his say. Jim didn't have to respond \- but perhaps listening would make a difference. 

No, if Jim didn't want to hear it, he'd just walk out. 

So - what? 

He gazed at the room around him, at the things that had been packed and unpacked twice so recently. Did he really live here any more - or was he just marking time? 

Time. 

Yeah. 

Putting his coffee down, he got up and hauled out his backpack. Keeping his movements as quiet as possible, he took out clothes, shoes, the books he needed, all the essentials. His last week's classes were being covered and then there was the spring break. He would have another two weeks off after that before he had to come back to Cascade. Perhaps by then, Jim would have had some time and space to think and maybe then they could talk without hurting each other. 

It didn't take him long to pack. With steady hands, he zipped everything closed, took a deep breath and opened his door. He carried his pack through to the front door and left it standing against the wall. He then moved quickly into the bathroom, collecting together his things before taking them back to his pack - but pulled up short for the second time that day when he found Jim standing there, staring down at it. 

Not once, since they'd made love that morning, had Jim looked him in the eye. Now he did - but so briefly, Blair almost missed it. Then, without a word, Jim turned on his heel and strode to the balcony window, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Silence filled the loft for a few minutes once Blair had finished packing the last of his things. When he straightened up, he picked up his keys and turned to Jim. He had to say something, but the only words he could think of would only sound like a recrimination - and that was the last thing he wanted. 

But Jim spoke for him. "Is this a threat?" 

"No. Why would I ..." 

"To make me talk." 

"No, it's not a threat. I'm going because you don't _want_ to talk and I don't want to make you. Trust me, it's better this way." 

"Better than what?" 

"Jim," Blair struggled, "I don't know what you want me to say. Neither of us can live like this. You know that. What did you expect would happen?" 

"I don't know. I just ... you ... Hell, Chief, can't you just give me some time?" 

Blair took a step forward, "That's exactly what I'm giving you. Time." 

"You're running away." 

"From what?" 

Jim only shrugged, turning his head to gaze out at the view - though Blair knew he was seeing none of it. 

Feeling the weight of too many hard weeks behind him, Blair moved closer, trying to ignore how Jim tensed at his approach. Swallowing down his hurt, he spoke quietly, "Jim, I have to go. It's the only way we have a hope of salvaging anything from this. I ..." He paused, choosing his words carefully, "if this morning was a mistake then please, just tell me." 

"A mistake?" Confusion was evident in Jim's voice, making Blair take one more step closer. 

"If it wasn't what you wanted, you know ... I ..." 

"Nothing happened this morning." 

"Jim," Blair's voice hardened, the last weeks edging into him with sharp claws, breaking down his resolve, "you know very well what happened this morning." 

"Do I?" 

"Yeah," Blair grunted, perversely taking the blunt route after all. "I fucked you. Are you honestly going to tell me you can't still feel how my cock filled you?" 

Jim flinched. He closed his eyes and shook his head, his jaw clenched shut, determining to say nothing more. 

Blair couldn't do this any more - because if he did, he'd start saying things he hated and didn't mean and there'd already been enough of that between them. Instead, he just turned and headed for the door. 

"Don't." 

He ignored the word and grabbed his jacket. 

"Don't." Jim said again. "Stay." 

"No. I'm not going to stay and listen to you deny what happened between us this morning," Blair sucked in a breath because some horrible things were happening inside him and tears were going to be the inevitable result. He was already too raw and yes, this morning had been a huge mistake or maybe the mistake was in not seeing what he was doing sooner, not seeing how he felt, not understanding how he'd been looking everywhere else for something when he'd had it all along, right here, in this man. 

Only now he had nothing. 

He blinked moisture from his eyes and pushed his arms into his jacket. 

"Stay." Jim said again, more firmly this time - but this time, Blair didn't bother responding. He just stepped to his backpack and lifted the straps, ready to carry it downstairs. He had no idea where he was going but right now, just getting in the car and driving sounded like a great idea. Driving and never coming back. 

How could Jim think that nothing had happened this morning? Nothing important? Hadn't he seen? Hadn't he looked? Hadn't he noticed what Blair knew he'd been showing in his eyes, his face, his actions? Was the man so damned stupid he couldn't tell ... 

Jim slammed him up against the door, holding him there with strong, determined hands, "Stay." 

Blair struggled but Jim had him. "Let me go ... please ..." 

Christ, this was pathetic - yeah, he was fucking well crying now and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Damned idiotic tears streaming down his face as though a dam had burst inside him. All the tears he hadn't allowed himself over the last few weeks, the last few days, tears for Nick and death and trust and betrayal. But none of it mattered to Jim. None of it. Jim just held him where he was, hands on Blair's shoulders, face tilted downwards, voice softly repeating, "Stay." 

With a cry, Blair swept his arms around Jim's neck and held on, burying his face against that shoulder and feeling arms enclose him tightly, holding him, just holding on, keeping him close, being someone to hold onto, some one to be there. 

Right where he'd always been, this good friend, all through this farce, from start to finish. 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, gulping in air, hoping the tears would die, that he could kill them off - but it hurt. All of it hurt so badly and it felt like it was going to hurt forever. 

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered. "I thought this morning was ... I love you, Blair and I loved it this morning but I just don't know ... I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm what you need, okay? I don't think I can give you what you need." 

"Are you ..." Blair steadied his voice a little, "Are you saying that's it? That it's over?" More tears threatened but he held on, held on for sanity's sake. 

"I don't know, Blair, I just don't know. What you did this morning was ... what I saw ... I ..." 

Blair lifted his head, tried to see Jim's eyes - but they avoided him. "What did you see?" Was it the sex? Was it the act that bothered him \- or was it something else? 

No, Jim had never once shrunk away from the sex. It had always been the other things he'd had difficulty with. 

"The sex was ... too much and ... not enough. I ... wanted to touch you but I was afraid ... because I ..." 

And there was the other, final, last and only option. Clear before him, it stood, waiting for his courage to catch up. "Jim?" Blair said without moving, "Make love to me." 

"Blair, please ..." 

Swiftly, Blair reached behind him to where Jim's arms encircled his back. He took those hands in his and moved them down to rest on his ass. "Make love to me." 

"No. I ..." 

"Make love to me," Blair said more gently, touching a kiss to Jim's jaw. "Take me." Another soft kiss. "Trust me." 

Jim's head lifted and at last he met Blair's gaze, "Trust you?" 

"Yeah." 

Jim said nothing to that - but he also didn't pull away. Blair felt those hand on his ass, hot and close and he knew how this had to go. Jim wasn't afraid of the act itself - he was afraid of wanting it, needing it, desiring it - and everything else they could have together. He was afraid of the intimacy deliberately making love would generate between them, afraid of how Blair would see him afterwards, afraid of how he would see himself. Afraid of having that self rejected. 

But it was too late for that. Blair had already seen everything he needed to see. He knew - and he knew Jim was exactly what he wanted. 

Risking a small smile, he pressed those hands against his ass for a brief moment, then stepped back. "Stay here." 

He moved into his bedroom quickly and retrieved the tube of lubricant before returning to Jim. The man had tracked his every step and now watched him with trepidation. Blair glanced at him and continued on, taking the stairs slowly, giving Jim time to make his decision. When he got up there, he began undressing, taking his clothes off and tossing them on the back of the chair. Naked, he pulled the covers back from the bed and lay down. 

At the first footstep, his stomach twisted with anticipation. Then Jim was slowly climbing upwards until he stopped at the top. Blair felt eyes raking over him and instantly hardened. Without a qualm, he reached down and caressed himself, stroking his erection lazily, enjoying the touch of his own hand. He could almost feel the heat from Jim's body. He turned his head and beckoned with his free hand, "Come on, sit down." 

Jim swallowed and moved closer, sitting on the side of the bed so he could still watch. Blair reached for him but Jim shook his head, "Don't stop." 

"Take your clothes off, then? Let me see you naked, properly?" 

Jim pulled his shirt off over his head, his eyes returning to Blair, to the hand stroking his cock, to his lips and mouth, to his chest, everywhere. His eyes burned with want and need and simply seeing it swept away all the sadness in Blair's heart. If only he could reach into Jim now, and let him see that this was beautiful. 

Jim stood and removed his jeans, kicking off shoes and socks, leaving only his boxers. Blair let his own gaze rove over the exquisite body before him, for the very first time, allowing himself to feel the desire he'd suppressed for so long. Jim was perfect, in every line and curve and Blair wanted him very, very badly. His eyes strayed to the last item of clothing, "Take them off. I want to see you." 

With a nod, Jim pushed his boxers down and kicked them away, straightening up to reveal a tough, hard erection of his own. Blair couldn't take his eyes off it as he continued to stroke his own cock. Jim was pretty big \- but in perfect proportion to the rest of his body. Blair had tasted him this morning and wanted to again now - but this was so delicately balanced, he didn't want to risk an early release. They might never get to this point again. 

He shifted over on the bed, to give Jim some room. "Sit down here and touch yourself." 

As though in a daze, Jim sat, his right hand enclosing his own cock, his left taking his weight as he leaned closer, still watching what Blair was doing. 

God, the sight of Jim doing that was ... incredible ... and Blair had to force his own hand to slow or he would come way too soon. Instead, he watched Jim's fingers slide up and down the thick shaft, playing with the head, squeezing a little, idly at first, then more seriously, the movements speeding up as his breath caught. Hot beyond imagining, Blair glanced up to find Jim's eyes on his. Jim was feeling it too now, feeling how good it was to watch and be watched like this. To see these things in eyes engulfed in the same desire. 

Blair snatched his hand away from his cock. He was too close. He sat up and knelt before Jim. "Lie down, will you?" 

Jim lay down, his hand once again playing idly rather than seriously. His gaze never left Blair's. 

Within that gaze was a wall of trust and Blair held on to that, held it like hope before him. 

Turning so he was in profile to Jim, he grabbed the lube and opened it. He spread some on his fingers and reached around to prepare himself. Instantly, he felt the bed move as Jim shifted closer, his lips brushing against the soft flesh of Blair's ass. But he didn't touch, didn't help. He just watched as Blair pushed a finger into himself. 

God, he was so turned on, he had no idea how long he would last. But he kept going, easing his opening loose a little before removing his finger to coat a second with lube. Jim was there before he could pick up the tube, squeezing out enough and smearing it over Blair's fingers. Once more, Blair put his hand back, stretching now and easing them into himself. Two felt good, the familiar tightness of his own hole urging him on. Without realizing it, he began to move up and down, fucking himself on his own fingers. 

When Jim kissed his ass again, he almost came - but the kiss was followed by a small bite and the tiny pain was just enough to draw back from the dangerous edge. By the time he removed his fingers for more lube, Jim had it ready, keeping hold of it as Blair pushed three fingers inside himself. Jim's hands immediately touched him, holding his cheeks apart and again, Blair almost came right then, knowing how close Jim was watching this invasion of his body. 

More moist kisses lapped across his skin, moving closer to his crack, tongue laving hot and desperate flesh. Frantically, Blair used his other hand on himself, to squeeze below his balls, to head off the impending climax. He had to hold on, had to wait, had to have Jim inside him. 

"Chief, I ..." 

"What, Jim?" 

"I ..." 

"You want me, don't you? Want to fuck me?" 

"God, yes!" 

"Then do me." 

The words were barely out when Jim's mouth sucked soft flesh in hard, hard enough to leave a mark. Blair rose up a little, feeling scorching fire rock through him. He was trembling and gasping now - but he had no time to worry about it. Jim grabbed his hand, urging the fingers out and pulling Blair down onto the bed. Instantly, Jim covered his body with his own, holding his head still with strong hands. For a moment, neither of them moved and then Jim was kissing him, deeply, deliberately and without reservation. 

From nowhere, a memory flashed into him, of another night, when he'd been hurt and wounded inside and this mouth had taken his, devouring and tasting sweet even though he'd not remembered afterwards. 

He remembered now. 

His thoughts that night had never been about Nick. 

Jim began to thrust against him, no longer able to control much at all. Blair would have protested but Jim's mouth left his then and travelled south, kissing and licking and leaving a cascade of fire trembling in his wake. Down and down he went until, without pausing, he took the head of Blair's cock in his mouth. He sucked a little, licked and sucked again, forcing Blair to use every trick he'd ever learned to stop himself from coming. He wanted them to come together. 

"Please, Jim, please, take me. I want you inside me, please." 

He spread his legs, leaving room for Jim, making the offer, hoping, trusting that it would be accepted. 

Without a word, Jim knelt between his legs, lifted them and dived down to the hot place between them. He nibbled and sucked Blair's balls, letting his tongue roam further until it encountered the needy hole, moist and ready for him. There he paused, simply looking - and then looking back up at Blair. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I have to ..." But there were no more words then. Jim simply positioned himself and slid into Blair in one swift stroke. 

With a cry of delight, of swimming pleasure flooding through him, Blair pulled Jim close, wrapping his legs around the man's waist, feeling the first slow thrust in and out, riding the wave, feeling the heady joy of copulation with this man, feeling that cock go deeper. Jim filled him so perfectly, the way he'd always wanted to be filled and he let Jim know with desperate kisses to nipples so close to his mouth. In response, Jim dived down for proper kisses, short and wet, tongue lapping for more, for taste and air and then down further, to nip and suck marks onto his throat. He would be covered in bruises tomorrow but he wanted to be, wanted to be marked and taken and for it to be obvious every time he looked at himself in a mirror. 

And then Jim was above him again, still thrusting slowly, angling to brush against that spot inside him, his eyes lighting up when Blair reacted, when Blair arched up and met his thrusts, when Blair trembled and whimpered. The speed increased, and it was so sweet, so very sweet that Blair reached up and took Jim's face between his hands, murmured words directly from the heart, "You are so beautiful, Jim, so beautiful like this. I love you making love to me. I love you." 

Jim's eyes widened in surprise, and his movements came to a halt. For a moment, Blair worried that he'd said the wrong thing - but then those pale eyes slid over this face, opening and revealing a depth he'd never seen before, raw and wonderful. Jim leaned down, placed a single kiss on Blair's lips and then resumed his moments, thrusting low and hard, almost grinding his cock into Blair. The change set Blair shivering uncontrollably as he kept his gaze on Jim's. Both panting now, Blair lifted his head, to get closer, ever closer, the heat building and building until he cried out. 

_"Oh, god!"_

Jim thrust once more, hard and Blair felt him coming, felt the big hand around his own cock pump twice and felt the blazing heat of completion sear through him, through them both. Hard and fast it hit them, blinding and powerful, seeming to last forever until Jim sank down again, holding Blair tightly, kissing him deeply, loving him permanently. 

It took some time for them to regain breath, to clear dizzy heads, until Blair could afford to open his eyes again and trust he would see something other than stars. It was, after all, the middle of the afternoon. Jim lifted some weight off him but stayed close, taking one more brief kiss. 

"I ... I don't want to move." Jim murmured. 

"No?" Blair wanted to laugh more than anything else right now. Laugh for no reason whatsoever. 

"Don't want to leave you." 

"Oh." 

"No. Want to stay right here." 

"Inside me?" 

"Yeah," Jim gave him a small grin, almost secretive, "Inside you." 

"Well, that's fine with me - but when you fall asleep, I'm going to suffocate, that's all." 

"Then I won't go to sleep." 

"Right." Blair smiled then and watched Jim fake an aggrieved sigh before gently and carefully withdrawing. Again, he didn't go far. He just laid down on top of Blair, gathered him close and rolled them both to their sides. More minutes were lost in perfectly sensuous kisses before the euphoria finally began to subside a little. 

Only a little. 

"Chief?" 

"Yeah?" Having this kind of conversation was ridiculous, really. Their faces were all of two inches away from each other. 

"I have something to tell you." 

"Oh?" 

"I'm gay." 

Blair opened his eyes wide, searching Jim's. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. I am." 

"Really sure?" 

"Yeah. I like fucking guys - and I liked being fucked by guys." 

"Guys?" 

"Well, okay, one guy. But I still like it." 

"Well, that's a good sign - but what about women?" 

"What about them?" 

"Jim, did you take something when I wasn't looking?" 

"When weren't you looking?" 

"That's a good point." 

"Thank you. There's just one other thing." 

"What's that?" 

"You're gay, too." 

"Jim, I'm bi - you know that." 

"Not any more, you're not." 

"Ah, I see." 

"Sure?" 

"Oh, yeah, I see exactly and yes, you're right - I am gay." 

"Good. Just so we've got things ... er ... straight." 

"Wouldn't want them to get bent out of shape." 

"Well, it would sound a little queer, now wouldn't it?" 

Blair opened his mouth to add another dreadful pun - but Jim kissed him then, slowly, gently and with every meaning he could add. When it was over, Jim lay on his back, pulling Blair to rest on him, sighing deeply. For long minutes, Blair just let the silence take them, basking in it and giving them time. Time Jim, in particular, seemed to need. 

He felt the bigger man take in a deep breath, "Blair, what you said?" 

"Yeah?" Somber now, Blair waited, not allowing himself to tense up at the change of tone. 

"You meant it, didn't you?" 

"Yes." 

"So ... do you think ... we can ..." 

"I do. If you want to. If you want to try." 

"Do you?" 

Blair took a moment - not to think about his answer, because he already knew that, but to just remember, to just mark the moment - it was important to do this because in a moment, it would be gone. "Yes, Jim. I want you and you want me. But you know, don't you, that this isn't going to make everything ..." 

"Yeah," he could feel Jim's nod, "I know. It isn't easy for me, okay?" 

"I know." 

"I just want you to understand that going in. I mean, I'll try - but it still scares me, this intimacy thing. I think though that maybe it doesn't scare me as much as it did. I do want to give you what you need \- but until I feel like I'm getting somewhere with it, I'll always be afraid I'll fail. I've always failed before. But maybe it's you ... I don't know. Maybe ..." 

"Jim, love?" 

"What?" 

"You've always given me what I need." 

Another silence greeted this, ended when Jim twisted round to face him, eyes narrowed and hesitant, "Are you sure?" 

Blair smiled, "Yeah. Trust me." 

At that, Jim nodded slowly and gave him a smile back, a lovely, warm smile of promised summer and long Sundays in bed. "Listen, we've both got some time off - why don't we go away for a while. Somewhere nice." 

"Somewhere warm?" Blair added hopefully. 

Jim chuckled, kissed his chin and nodded, "Isn't this warm enough for you?" Jim let his hand wander down Blair's back, brushing over his ass as a deliberate reminder. 

"Jim, even _we_ can't spend every minute of every day in bed." 

"Perhaps not - but it might be fun to try it out." 

Blair was in danger of laughing out loud. He bit his lip to discourage the temptation. "I'd love to go away for a while." 

"And what about tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Nick's funeral. You want to go?" 

Blair lifted his head until he could look Jim in the eye. "Would you mind if I said yes?" 

"No. I'll go with you ... unless ..." 

"No, that'd be nice. Thanks." 

"And then afterwards, we can work out where we're going to go, okay?" 

"Yeah." Blair settled again, feeling the warmth coming from his sentinel's body. "You know we can't stay like this." 

"Why not?" 

"Because we'll be stuck together by morning." 

"I thought that was the whole point." 

Blair giggled, "Well, not the _whole_ point." 

Jim laughed softly, turned and kissed him again. 

"I love you," Blair whispered when he could, drawing Jim into the veil of intimacy they had always shared. 

"I love you," Jim whispered in reply before taking another, longer kiss, moist and sweet. Settling once more, Jim's hands smoothed down Blair's back, a soft caress floating over skin like the play of water. "Thirsty?" 

"A little." Blair nodded against Jim's chest. 

"Tired?" 

"I guess." 

"How about I go downstairs, get a damp cloth, glasses and a bottle of wine." 

"Sounds like a plan. I don't think I can move right now." 

"That good, was it?" 

"Oh yeah," Blair breathed this out with every nuance of feeling he could muster from his sated body. Mindblowing sex twice in one day was more than enough to wipe him out. 

"Okay, then." Jim couldn't hide the pleased tone in his voice and Blair wondered idly how long it would be before they could do it again. So maybe twice wasn't _quite_ enough to wipe him out. "Right, I'll go get the stuff, then." 

"Thanks." 

"That's what friends are for." 

Those hands remained on his back, skimming lightly, sending frail, delicious shivers over Blair's skin. If he had ever felt more relaxed in his life, he certainly didn't remember it. More relaxed or more safe. And he wasn't sure he had ever seen a smile like that on Jim's face before, either. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You're still here." 

"Uh huh." 

Blair smiled, "Okay." 

"Yeah." 

~ Finis


End file.
